Strawberries
by xxsewnlipsxx
Summary: Some things must be broken completely before they can be fixed. Male Hawke/Fenris
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Strawberries**

**Rating: M**

**Summary: Some things must be broken completely before they can be fixed. Male Hawke/Fenris**

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Review please.**

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><p>"<em>And in apology, he sent me not roses, not chocolates, but strawberries. I did not understand at first, but eventually I figured out why. We were eating strawberries before our first kiss. Tell me, how often do you find a man who is good, pure in his intentions, and can remember a romantic detail such as that?"<em>

Strawberries

It was raining, but Fenris went anyway. For an hour, he had paced in his home, debating whether or not to go. Surely Hawke would understand if he didn't turn up for his lesson. The rain was thick, heavy, and felt like pinpricks. There was no one out in the street. The sun was beginning to set, and he did not relish the idea of being soaked. Yet he looked forward to his weekly lessons, and he did not want to miss it or disappoint Hawke. So he decided that a little water could not frighten him.

After donning a cloak that was drenched in minutes, he walked from his mansion in Hightown to Hawke's little estate. Pausing outside the door with his hand raised, he was uncertain again. He did not want to get water all over his friend's nice carpet. He would make a mess the second he entered, and he wondered if it would be best if he stood under the roof for a few more minutes to dry off. A chill shook him, and he reprimanded himself. He was being foolish. Again.

That was how things were with Hawke. With anyone else, he was always himself without worry or fear. He never held back. Hawke was different. He was always pausing, uncertain, always thinking through every action he took around him. Something about the Champion made him self-conscious even after all the years he had known him, after their tumble three years ago, and their renewed relationship.

Knocking before he could have further thoughts, he was surprised when Hawke answered instead of Bodahn. He was dressed finely in his dark red, cotton clothing with silver cuffs. Shocking blue eyes regarded him with warmth, a knowing smile on his lips. In the rogue's hand was a towel. Fenris realized with chagrin that Hawke had been waiting on him. He couldn't help the small frown that came to his lips as Hawke stepped aside to let him in. There were towels on the floor as well so that he wouldn't drip on the carpet.

"You were prepared," he accused as he stepped inside. Hawke shut the door and chuckled.

"Let's just say that I was hopeful," Hawke told him, tossing the towel over his head and helping to dry his hair gently. Fenris's armored hands came up, covering the human's fingers with his own as they worked. The sharp tips of his gloves dug into Hawke's skin, but the man didn't complain. "It sounds better," he said, taking the towel away. "Besides, I was under the impression that you quite enjoyed the book I picked out last time. You were hesitant to leave."

Fenris paused, running his hands through his hair to flatten it down. "It was…interesting," he admitted reluctantly, glancing up to see Hawke's reaction. As always, there was no taunting in his expression. Once again Fenris scolded himself for looking at Hawke and expecting to see Danarius.

"That's why I chose it," Hawke told him, fingers gently unbuttoning the cloak at his throat and folding it over his arm. Fenris remembered a time that he would not have let anyone so close to him. Now he didn't give it another thought.

Water had soaked through the heavy cloak and onto his armor. As they moved into the foyer near the staircase, firelight reflected in the tiny beads of rain. Hawke handed his garment and the soaked towel to Orana, kindly asking her if she would take care of them. She hurried off in the direction of the washroom. Fenris's eyes roved over the large painting of Hawke's mother, commissioned just before her death. An urn containing her ashes sat just to the left of it, fresh flowers to the right on the fireplace. It was a suitable shrine for such a lovely, sweet woman. Her loss had left the world just a little bit darker, especially so for Hawke and young Bethany. The fire and rage in Hawke's eyes when he had found the mage responsible still brought a shock to Fenris when he thought about it. He had never seen such an expression on Hawke before.

Unopened envelopes lay spread across Hawke's desk, inscribed with various crests and seals with different degrees of importance. The letter opener was sitting halfway out of an opened letter. It appeared as though Hawke had cut it open but never read it. He was bad at answering mail quickly, spending too much time thinking over his response. Fenris had watched for many hours while he composed a letter to his sister, careful to sound happy for her and not guilty at his lack of ability to protect her from the Circle. It had been a hard feat with Bethany's intuition.

Bodahn was nowhere to be seen and neither was Sandal. The enchanter's glittering tools were spread out on a table, untapped runes sitting in tiny bags and spilling out. Hawke had never used runes much, relying mostly on his strength rather than magic. While he supported the mages—much to Fenris's disapproval—he had a natural wariness around magic that made Fenris think he understood the dangers. He was comfortable to have Anders light the fire or tend his wounds, but he was not comfortable with blood magic or the Fade. It was that simple guard that had made Fenris turn from potential rival to friend.

Suddenly Hawke was by his side, deft hands unbuckling his armor from behind. Fenris made a sharp noise in his throat and turned around to catch the human's hands, always wary. Hawke met his challenge with a soft smile. "You can't very well stay in these wet clothes, Fenris. You'll catch cold."

It had been weeks since they'd made up and become lovers once more, but Hawke had not touched him intimately since that kiss by his fireplace and the events after. Knowing more than he probably should about the abuses of Fenris's master, Hawke always let those types of encounters be his choice. If Fenris wanted him, he had to initiate it so that a question of whether or not he was bullied into the situation or instinctively following 'orders' would not arise. At least, that was how Fenris saw it.

Nodding his assent, he allowed Hawke's hands to ghost over his skin and unbuckle the spiky armor he wore nearly all the time. He removed his own gauntlets and sword as Hawke set his carapace by the fire to dry. Once he was standing in just his slim pants, the ribbon around his wrist, and a dark tunic, he expected Hawke to look, at least for a moment. Instead, the human turned away and called for Orana. The elf appeared moments later with a fresh change of clothes. Hawke handed them to Fenris.

"I bought these for you a few days ago," he explained at Fenris's puzzled expression. "If you would like to change, feel free to go to my room. I will be there in a moment. I need to get your book." With a pat on Fenris's arm, he went into the study.

When Fenris just stood there, Orana approached him cautiously. "Would you like help?" she asked.

"No," he said to her, brushing past and going to Hawke's room. Up the stairs, he ducked into Hawke's room and shut the door. Setting the clothing on the bed, he began to strip. There was always a sense of surreal tension when he was in Hawke's house. He knew he was just clinging to his last life, finding a new master to serve almost instinctively. Hawke did not want that, and there was always a bit of shock when Fenris was treated with kindness. He had become cynical and hard in his time away from Danarius. It was difficult to push that aside.

Hawke knocked before entering, and Fenris found that slightly endearing. They had both seen each other completely nude before, so there was no reason other than polite respect for him to do such a thing. It made Fenris smile as he opened the door. Hawke entered with the leather bound book they had been reading last week, a feather marking the page they had left off on.

"I was thinking that I should maybe let you borrow a few books," he said as he entered. "You can practice even when I'm not there. You're a very quick study, Fenris, and you like to read."

Fenris didn't answer as Hawke handed him the book. The cool leather felt strange on his fingers. He was not allowed to even touch the books in Danarius's mansion. The servants were the ones who cleaned and dusted them. He was always surprised by the texture of the pages and the beautiful print.

"Would you mind? You can even pick out the books, if you want," Hawke continued, walking past him and sorting a few things on his desk.

"I wouldn't mind," Fenris replied, sliding his fingers over the pages. Books had turned out to be a whole new world for him, telling him things that he would never have learned any other way. They held secrets of medicine and romance and monsters he had never heard of.

Hawke settled down in his chair and picked up his quill, dipping it into the well of ink. "All right, read the first page for me," he said, gesturing to the opposite chair. Fenris sat down and opened the book, running his fingers along the dark letters. He began reading as Hawke filled out his mail, switching eventually to writing in his journal. Fenris didn't mind the split attention. Whenever he stuttered over a word or needed help, Hawke understood and asked him to spell it. He would then ask him to sound it out and see if he could figure it out. If he could not, Hawke would supply the word for him.

These little moments were proof that Hawke was listening to him. It was all he needed to continue. They usually read for an hour or so, and Fenris was making considerable progress, finishing not three pages but five pages by the end of their lessons. He barely stumbled and didn't have to ask Hawke to explain the story so much. Instead, he explained it when Hawke inquired as to whether or not he understood. He had. Hawke was not the most brilliant teacher in the world, but there was no one else Fenris would rather have teach him.

Hawke never coddled him, never pitied him for not understanding. He was to the point, understanding, and ready to respond to questions. If Fenris needed help, he helped. Hawke did not mock him for his ignorance but sought to correct it.

Eventually the candle burned out, and Hawke glanced up in alarm, his work finished. He had been staring intently at Fenris while he read, listening carefully. Fenris stopped as Hawke relit the candle and stifled a yawn. "Maybe that's enough for tonight," he said. "You should let your eyes rest."

"We went over, I think," Fenris replied, staring at the fire which had burned down into nothing but smoldering embers. He'd noticed the dimming light somewhere in his mind, but he had been so focused on reading that it hadn't really bothered him.

"I think so, too," Hawke frowned, "but no harm done, I guess."

Fenris put the feather in place and closed the book, sliding it toward Hawke. Hawke took it and stood up, pushing in his chair. "Do you want to borrow a few books, Fenris, before you leave? I don't see us doing much this week besides running a few errands for the Viscount. It'll give you time to practice."

Staring up at him, Fenris suddenly didn't feel very much like leaving. A warmth had spread across his whole body, and he was feeling rather relaxed. He knew that if he left, he would have to go back out into the rain and probably wear that wet cloak all the way back to his house. Standing up, he pushed his own chair in. "I would like that." He walked closer to Hawke and put a hand on his chest, marveling at how small the human made him feel. Hawke raised an eyebrow at him.

Moving very deliberately and keeping his eyes locked with the human's, Fenris took the book from his hand and placed it on the desk. He swallowed, his mouth going dry. He didn't think he'd ever get used to initiating such things. Catching on, Hawke put a hand on his upper arm and pulled him closer, hot breath ghosting over his lips. "You sure?" he asked, and Fenris had to smile. Always his choice.

In answer, the elf kissed him and locked his arms around his neck, clicking their teeth together. Hawke tasted of sweet wine and smelled of ink and parchment. It didn't hurt like it used to when Hawke's hands slid up his shirt and held onto his waist with soft fingers instead of bruising force. It didn't feel quite as strange when Hawke kissed down his neck and over his marks, following the glittering patterns with his tongue. It didn't bother him as much when Hawke's calloused hand dipped into his trousers and turned him into a liquid mess of sensation and ecstasy. He wasn't as self-conscious as he cried out Hawke's name, and later, when they were both spent, he was happy to be tucked into the human's side with the blankets over them. It almost felt like he belonged there.

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><p>When Hawke woke up, he was not expecting to see Fenris still there, curled softly against his side as he slept peacefully for once. In fact, he could not remember Fenris ever having stayed the night at his mansion. It was not an unpleasant discovery, and he actually smiled as he gently extracted himself from the lanky elf's arms and pulled on his cotton pants. Running a hand through his mess of dark hair, he used the wash basin to rinse his face and then went downstairs. Orana blushed a delightful pink at seeing him without a shirt, politely turning around as she dusted his mother's picture. Bodahn scolded him for making her so uncomfortable.<p>

"Sorry, Bodahn," he said quickly, "I just came down to check my mail. Did anything arrive last night or this morning?"

"You've been checking often, Messere," Bodahn chuckled. "Is there something you're waiting for?" The dwarf produced a packet of mail, mostly junk.

"Just news from the Viscount," Hawke replied, sorting through it. "I'm worried about this mess with the Templars and the mages. There's only so much the Grand Cleric can do." He frowned as he realized that there was nothing with the Viscount's seal on it. There was, however, a red envelope with a most curious crest that Hawke could only vaguely recognize. Orana came over with her head down and her fingers clasped.

"Master, would you like breakfast now or later?" she squeaked.

Feeling badly for putting her on the spot and withering under Bodahn's glare, he chuckled softly. "Whenever you feel like it, Orana. I may be leaving early today. I wondered if you might run me a bath?" She nodded and rushed out of the room. Hawke held up his hands at the dwarf and smiled. "Okay, I'm sorry."

"You really shouldn't do such a thing, Messere! She is the only lady in the household, and I'm sure that makes her nervous considering her past," Bodahn scolded.

"Enchantment!" Sandal added viciously.

"I'll get dressed after I take a bath," Hawke said to placate the both of them, heading upstairs. He shut the door behind him quietly and hunted for a pressed shirt in his dresser drawers. After finding a pair of pants and shirt to wear under his armor, he glanced back to see glittering eyes staring at him from his pillow. He smiled and leaned over the bed to give Fenris a brief kiss.

"Good morning," he greeted. It was strange to think of Fenris as his lover after such a long time. Three years ago, he had given up all hope of any sort of romantic relationship with the elf. But they had managed to work through it somehow, though it had certainly taken a long time. To see Fenris in his bed, where he could kiss him as he pleased, felt like a dream.

"Uh, did I sleep late?" Fenris asked, taking in Hawke's appearance. With no windows in the room, it was difficult to judge the time.

"I don't think so," Hawke shrugged. "Aveline would be here to wake me up if we had." The guard had a knack for sending him wakeup calls on the days he was lazy in the form of Officer Branon beating down his door.

Fenris glanced down, almost looking awkward. He had a light blush on his cheeks and slowly crawled out of the bed. He headed toward the fireplace where his armor had been brought up sometime that morning or the previous night. Hawke caught him around the waist and spun him around, planting another kiss on his lips. It was out of character for him. He knew Fenris was finicky about physical contact, but it felt like the morning after they should have had three years ago. He wasn't going to let it go so easily.

To his surprise, Fenris didn't fight him on it. He even kissed back. Pulling away, Hawke rested his forehead against Fenris's. "Before you run away and I don't get to see you again for another week, would you mind taking a bath with me?"

Eyes softening, Fenris actually smiled. Things had certainly changed. "If you like."

"You have no idea," he whispered, kissing him again before tossing his mail onto the desk and taking his hand. He led him down the stairs and into the washroom where Orana finished filling up the bathtub with hot water. The room was full of thick steam, baking their skin pink. The servant excused herself as quickly as possible with much stuttering and blushing, and Hawke helped Fenris undress. He took his time, turning an everyday task into a slow, sensuous process that ended with more kisses than they had ever shared before.

Back in Lothering, he'd had quite a few lovers with all the visitors and soldiers pouring in all the time. With his sister and his father both being apostates, they had to keep a low profile. Sneaking into voluptuous women's rooms at night was not the best way to do that. That hadn't stopped him, though. He had often ended up in drunken trysts with female soldiers at the tavern or even male soldiers. Never had he taken the time to actually form an emotional bond with them before having sex.

To say one thing, it felt different with someone he actually cared about. The motions were slow, achingly so, and sweet. Every kiss meant more, every touch or gasp his partner gave brought him pleasure as well. He liked seeing a smile on Fenris's face, and he liked hearing a low groan in response to his ministrations. It was nothing like having sex with a stranger. Hawke was glad for that.

After pulling the last bit of cloth from his body, Hawke took the time to appreciate his sculpted form with an unflinching gaze that made the elf squirm. It might have been comical had Hawke not been so serious about it. Fenris was all sinewy and wiry muscle. He was slim and lithe, almost feminine in the soft bones of his face and tiny waist, but there was no mistaking he was male.

Finally Hawke took pity on the poor soul and kissed him, pulling him into the warm, swirling water. The elf settled between his legs, and Hawke began running a sponge over his clawed back. There were many love bites on his neck and scratches down his back. Hawke was sure to kiss each one as he rinsed it. Both of them fell into a lazy sort of reverie. Fenris leaned against his chest, pressing their wet skin together as Hawke ran the sponge over his pectorals and neck. Their hearts beat in sync, the dull thrumming putting Hawke at ease as the water cooled.

"I thought we'd go to see your sister today, if that's all right with you?" Hawke whispered in his ear, nibbling on the tip. The scent of Orlesian oil permeated the air, swirling around the room with the steam.

"The sooner the better," came Fenris's strained reply as the sponge slid over his thigh underwater.

"Who do you want to bring? Aveline and Varric are good against magic-based attacks," he said, one hand creeping around the elf's waist to rest just at his belly, lighting running his nails over the flesh there. "Hmm, we shouldn't bring Anders or Merrill. Mage against mage tends to get a little…messy." Fenris groaned as Hawke chose then to slide his fingers around the elf's organ, giving it one slow pump. Hawke set his chin on Fenris's shoulder, kissing his neck as the other hand ran along his side.

Fenris leaned his head back, panting as the hand worked him slowly and professionally. Hawke peppered kisses behind his ear, other hand coming up to thread his fingers through the snowy hair. "Sebastian will probably like to go," Hawke remarked idly, "but his bow is no match for the speed of Varric's crossbow. It won't be as effective." He smiled into the elf's shoulder as all he could manage was a moan. "Isabela is fast. Maybe we could use her? That is, if it's a trap."

The water was beginning to feel colder as his skin heated up. Hawke could feel himself growing aroused as the elf squirmed in front of him, digging his nails into Hawke's thigh. Fenris's heart beat faster against his chest, and his breath came out in little pants. His glittering eyes were closed. "What do you think, Fenris?"

Fenris growled. "I think you're a tease, Hawke," he accused, thrusting up into the hand.

"I think you're right," Hawke chuckled in his ear. The noise was cut short, however, when Fenris reached back and gripped his own erection. It turned into a strangled moan that he muffled against the other's neck as pleasure shot through him. "Dirty trick," he said breathlessly as the fingers moved. "Here, turn around."

The hand let go of him, and Fenris turned to sit on Hawke's lap, straddling his waist. The tub was just wide enough for Fenris's knees to rest on either side of him, thankfully so. Hawke cupped his face and brought their lips together, panting into the kiss as Fenris's hands wrapped around him again. Hawke shamelessly explored the defined muscles, rippling beneath the pads of his fingers. The skin was like silk against him, shining with a sheen of sweat and water, and he ran his nails over it to mar it, earning a growl that vibrated in his mouth. Fenris twitched against his thigh, and he bucked up. The elf broke the kiss to moan even as Hawke gripped the back of his neck and pulled him back down to muffle it.

He pulled on snowy hair and turned the elf's head to lap casually at the marks on his neck, sinking his teeth in hard enough to leave a mark but not hard enough to draw blood. Fenris let go of him and ran his nails along Hawke's thighs, not holding back. He felt the skin tear and winced. There were already several bruises on his back. Fenris was anything but a gentle lover. Hawke let go of his hair and let his hands drift down to probe at his entrance, slipping a finger inside of him.

Fenris gasped before squirming as he hadn't expected it. Hawke smiled against his lips, trying to catch his eye as hot breath brushed against his cheek. His heart kicked up a notch, making him swallow dryly. Fingers were running over his face, over the outlines of his faded tattoos all done in deep blue ink. Sweet kisses, light as a feather adorned his jaw, accompanied by small nips every once in a while. Hawke slipped another finger in all the way to the knuckle, his other hand coming to curl around the elf's erection.

"Hawke," Fenris said in his ear, deep voice rumbling against his chest. The human took mercy on him then, angling just right to hit the spot that would make him see stars. Fenris reacted just how he expected, and he was prepared. The bite in his shoulder stung just a little less for that, but still bled. Crimson mingled down from the elf's pointed teeth even as they kissed, dribbling over Hawke's lips and into the water. He would be sore from that. The fingers were extracted, and Hawke guided the elf to where he needed to be.

Fenris sank down without hesitation, making them both writhe with pleasure at the sensation. It buzzed along Hawke's veins like magic, stronger and more potent than any type of alcohol he'd ever drank. He clicked their teeth together as he began to thrust, moving inside his lover with startling alacrity. The water provided enough lubrication to make movement easier, though slower. Fenris's hands settled on his shoulders as Hawke dipped his head down to lavish a nipple and tease with his teeth.

The pleasure was enough to make him want to curl his toes, each groan or breathless gasp muffled so as not to scar the household. Eventually the coil curled tightly in his belly, and he sensed his release was near. Gripping Fenris in his hand, he stroked the elf's arousal in time with his thrusts before spilling over. Fenris's groan followed shortly after, and Hawke wrapped his arms around the elf's neck to pull him down into a kiss.

A tongue invaded his mouth, taking his breath away as he moved a few more times. When the both of them stilled, Fenris buried his head into Hawke's collarbone, drawing in heated breaths. A languid haze of spongy bones and liquid limbs settled over the both of them, Hawke's fingers coming up to knead Fenris's lower back as the elf slipped off him. Twice in one night would no doubt make him sore. He almost felt bad, giving the bite mark on his neck a lazy lick of apology.

"We should get dressed," Hawke whispered in his ear, "if we want to go see your sister." He said it reluctantly, but the day was probably already halfway over, and he did not want to wait much longer. Whether it was a trap or not, he was still unsure. Regardless, he meant to see it through. Fenris wanted to try. If they met his master there instead, Hawke was fairly certain it would be worth it to take the mage down at last.

They clambered out of the bath with weak limbs and dripping skin. Another distraction caught them on the way out while Hawke was drying the elf off, but it was just a few friendly kisses and shameless pawing. Hawke felt as though he were eighteen again, living on love. The buzz spread through his veins like a wildfire, and he was fairly sure there could be nothing that could ruin his good mood.

Escorting Fenris out of the door, he pulled him once last time into a breathtaking kiss before allowing him to duck out the door. No doubt the nobles would be talking about it for the next week, as they always did whenever one of his more exotic friends came to visit. They were especially fond of chatting about Fenris as he had been seen at least twice coming into Hawke's estate by night and leaving only in the morning. Hightown was full of gossip. The elf's strange tattoos didn't help either.

As he walked with wet hair toward his room, he stopped at the disapproving cluck from Bodahn. "Mistress Leandra would look down on such poor conduct, Messere," he said good-naturedly. He was smiling, only teasing. "The nobles will not let that kiss pass without judgment."

Hawke chuckled. "With the wild rumors going around and the tales Varric spreads, they have more important things to gossip about than my love life, I'm sure."

"Oh, I doubt it," Bodahn shook his head, eyes crinkling. "The eligible ladies in this town have nothing better to talk about." The dwarf turned around and produced three letters from his workstation, two white and the third a dark red. "These came while you were, uh, otherwise preoccupied."

"Strange," Hawke muttered, glancing at the red one. "That's two with the same crest. I've seen it somewhere before."

"Then perhaps you should read them, Messere," Bodahn suggested lightly.

Hawke shrugged. "That's probably a good idea. Will you ask Orana to send me up some breakfast? I'm famished."

"I'm sure, Ser," Bodahn laughed as Hawke began to ascend the stairs. He ran his fingers over the darker letter and then over the seal, trying to recall where he had seen it. The parchment was of fine make and slightly wet at the bottom. Curious, he rushed to his room and procured the letter opener. Setting the wet letter down, he opened the one that had arrived first and began to read.

There were three sheets of parchment inside, only one of which contained any writing. It read simply, in an elegant and educated scrawl:

_We have something very important of yours._

Raising an eyebrow and feeling growing apprehension, he snatched the wet envelope and tore it open, not bothering with the tool. Tipping it over, he caught a bound lock of hair that tumbled out. Blood smeared in his palm, and he realized what had made the envelope damp. The hair was soft, pitch black, and bound in a tiny, red band that he would recognize anywhere.

_Bethany._

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><p><strong>5 chapters max. Short series. Review if you want me to continue. Thanks for reading. Review please.<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: Strawberries**

**Rating: M**

**Summary: Some things must be broken completely before they can be fixed. Male Hawke/Fenris**

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Review please.**

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><p>"<em>Poisoned. The strawberries were poisoned," she gasped, tears in her eyes. "He has murdered me!"<em>

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><p><span>Chapter 2<span>

Fenris was feeling intoxicated, but it wasn't from any type of alcohol consumption. His bones felt light, his head spinning. There was something to the 'love drunk' notion after all. He nearly bumped into two different people while lost in his thoughts. While he wasn't singing or dancing around, he felt exactly how the storybooks said it would be like. It was a slow, smoldering feeling of warmth in the pit of his stomach that made the sound of birds just a little more delightful, a child's laugh sweeter, and the feel of Kirkwall homier.

Was he in love with Hawke? He didn't know. He had nothing to compare it to. All he knew was that he cared for Hawke, that the human made him happy and lighter than air. Every time he looked to that face expecting to see unkindness, he was met with the opposite. Hawke treated him as if he deserved to live, deserved to a free man. It was a feeling he could not describe. That someone as noble and proud and virtuous as Hawke thought him worthy—once he would have called it impossible.

He slipped carefully inside his mansion, shutting the door and leaning against it. A pleasurable ache had settled throughout his body. Scratches down his back stung, bruises where strong hands had gripped him too hard pulsating with pain. The strange thing was that he had asked for it. When Hawke gave him slow, sweet lovemaking, he wanted rough, passionate sex. A hand drifted up and fingers rested against his throat where a bite mark was turning an obscene red and purple.

A sudden thought came to him, bringing him out of his reverie as cold anxiety settled in his gut. He was going to see his sister.

Fenris remembered only soft visions from his childhood, flickering and wisp-like things that he could only grasp sometimes in the heat of passion or in his dreams. If he tried to remember, they eluded him. Sometimes he caught a bit of ribbon flowing in the wind, fiery hair like a banner, or a whispered word in his ear. There was nothing even close to what he wanted.

With a hand rubbing at the back of his neck, he started toward his room at the far end of the mansion, kicking bits of rubble as he passed. There was a certain charm to the luxurious house. It was twice as big as Hawke's and far more expensive. Still, there was a lack of…passion in it. The house wasn't draped in gold and crimson. There was no crest, no warmth. It was as lifeless as he felt sometimes, the walls rotting around him as the ceiling caved in. It also did not belong to him.

Eventually he would have to find someplace else to live. Aveline did what she could, but it was difficult to hide the presence of an elf in Hightown that was neither a visiting slave nor a servant. His bright, luminescent tattoos didn't help causes either. Nor his white hair and dark skin. Everything about him set him apart. There was little anyone could do to hide him.

His lips burned with Hawke's kisses still. Standing outside the door, he'd almost wanted to laugh at the women blushing demurely as he passed. Hawke had meant for them to see the last tender moment between them, and Fenris had to smile at the man's wily ways. Even after so long, so much hardship, he still got his kicks when he wanted them. No doubt he'd pay for it with nasty rumors for months, but it had been funny at the time. He was sure that would be all Hawke would remember.

Fenris paused at the top of his stairs as he heard shuffling feet. Immediately, a fear seized him. Had Danarius's men finally come to take him away? Had they broken in while he was otherwise busy? A hand whipped to his blade as he crouched, teeth bared. His heart picked up a notch, and he suddenly at the fierce desire for Hawke to be standing next to him. The door handle jiggled, and out walked a familiar figure.

Varric's eyes widened as they took him in, and the dwarf held up his hands in quick surrender. Fenris relaxed immediately, and let his sword fall back into its strap across his back. Straightening, he frowned. "What are you doing here?" he asked curiously.

"Hey, hey," Varric said, letting his hands fall, "I was just worried about you. You weren't here this morning when I came by."

Heat rose in his skin, glancing away. "I was with Hawke." Varric could see through any lie. It wasn't any good to even give it a shot.

The dwarf chuckled, a grin splitting his mouth. "All night?" Fenris nodded. "So Hawke's back in, eh? Congratulations! I'm glad. He gets so moody when he's not around you." Varric seemed to mean it. There was an uncommon camaraderie between the human and the dwarf.

"He does not," Fenris said hotly, bristling. Truthfully, he was glad that Varric knew at last. When he'd found out that Fenris had left, he'd been rather short with the elf since. They still drank and played cards every once in a while, but there was a wariness that had settled around them. Fenris felt it melting away almost immediately.

"Whatever you say, Broody," Varric shrugged, not willing to argue. "I came over to deliver a message. I just got word that your sister is at the Hanged Man. She's been there these past few days."

"I know," Fenris replied, walking past Varric and into his room. There was a sort of peace that came with being 'home' again. There was less tension in more familiar surroundings. "We're going to meet her today."

"Hawke's going with you?"

"Yes."

"That's good," the dwarf nodded approvingly. "In case it's a trap, you know. It didn't seem as though she were with anyone else, but there were a lot of people in there. I don't know what Magistrates look like, but it seemed like a normal bunch of drunken idiots to me."

The news came as a surprising comfort to Fenris. Varric, who took in every detail and catalogued it for his stories, was unlikely to miss such a man. How could anyone not notice his cold eyes, like a corpse? His pale skin, too pale to even be human? His ugly, wispy hair? That oily, crooked nose? The sashaying motion he did with his hips when he walked, as if he were so much more important than anyone else? It was impossible.

Fenris unstrapped his large weapon and rolled his stiff shoulders as he set it against the fireplace. Sleeping in Hawke's extravagant bed had been more relaxing than he had realized. He felt revitalized, as though he'd gotten just the right amount of sleep. Of course, Hawke's warm chest as a pillow probably hadn't hurt either. Varric was smiling at him, and he raised an eyebrow.

"You and Hawke had a late night, huh?" he laughed. "That mark on your throat isn't going to go away for weeks!"

The elf's hand flew to his throat, and he rubbed a thumb over the bite mark. It felt tender, sore, and most definitely inflamed. Varric was right, of course. He was a slow healer to begin with, and it would most likely take forever to heal just because he wanted it to be gone quickly. Isabela would tease him relentlessly about it for the next few days. That woman could spot signs of passion on a Chantry sister if one let her.

"So, were there candles? Did he woo you slowly, or did he just ravish you?" Varric asked, eyes gleaming. He was starting to sound like the pirate queen. The only difference was that it wasn't just idle gossip. He was just looking for fodder for his stories.

"I'm not sharing," Fenris stated simply, sitting down on the bench beside the cooled ashes of the fire. He supposed he should sharpen his blade, but he felt lazy. The blade was sharp enough as it was. It was just a nervous habit of his.

"No fun, elf," Varric pouted, mocking hurt. He sat down on the opposite bench, putting an elbow on his knee and staring at the small cot Fenris kept in the corner. "So when are you moving in?"

Fenris glanced sharply at him. "Moving in?"

"You know, with Hawke? After all this time, you'd think you two would take the next step," Varric said. At Fenris's startled expression, he snorted. "Oh, come on. You're so obviously in love, it's sickening. You're even glowing."

The elf actually glanced at his hand to see if he was glowing. He wasn't. The expression was obviously something from Kirkwall he didn't understand. Still, Varric raised an interesting question. He didn't know if he was in love with Hawke. Moving in? It seemed like too big a step. He would admit to anyone that he was cautious, wary, and that making himself that vulnerable would be hard. Fear of rejection was great, but he would never have the audacity to ask Hawke if he could move in. He'd rather be arrested by the guards than face such humiliation.

"Stop making such a face," the dwarf chided him. "Why wouldn't you want to move in with Hawke? He has a nice house, lots of money, and a cute serving girl. Not to mention you could see him whenever you wanted." Varric made a dismissive gesture with one gloved hand.

They sat in silence for a moment while the elf mulled over the question in his head, turning it over so many times that he nearly made himself sick. At last, Fenris replied. "Hawke's decision."

Varric laughed. "If it were only Hawke's decision, he would have kidnapped you three years ago and locked you in his room. Honestly, Broody, you're the only one that doesn't seem to see how far you've got him wrapped around your little finger." He held up a finger for emphasis. "He loves you so much I can't even stand to be around him when he talks about you."

He didn't believe it. Hawke was a strong, proud warrior. There was no reason for him to fall in love with an elven slave from Tevinter. Fenris was flawed in so many ways, and Hawke was perfect. The two didn't mix. He almost smiled at how blind Varric was. Sex with feelings was one thing. Love was different. Fenris didn't know love. Didn't understand it. He'd never had to.

"Are you sure you didn't see anyone with her?" Fenris changed the subject, completely without tact. Thankfully, Varric frowned but didn't say anything about it.

"You still think it's a trap? As I said, I didn't see anyone."

Fenris considered. "We want to be prepared."

The dwarf shrugged. "You're just nervous. Sure, if it's a trap, we'll deal with that. Hawke won't let anyone touch you. In the meantime, think about what it'll be like to meet your sister. I mean, you don't remember anything. She can fill in the blanks, right?"

"Maybe," he replied. Fenris wasn't sure. Whether or not they knew each other for only a short period of time before Danarius ripped him away was a mystery. Maybe they had grown up together. Maybe he had been nearly grown when Danarius had taken him. Again, there was nothing he could use. "What did she look like?"

Varric paused and thought. "Kind of like you," he raised his eyes to meet the elf's. "Her hair was red, not silver like yours, and she was much paler than you are. In the face, though, there was some definite family resemblance. You've got the same eyes and the same bones."

For some reason, that made Fenris almost happy. Suddenly Varric stood up and stretched. "Well, I'm going to head toward Hawke's and see what's keeping him. We should go before sundown. The streets get too dangerous for her to be out that late."

"Is it so late?" Fenris wondered.

"Not yet," Varric replied. "There's probably three or four more hours left of daylight. Still, who knows how long this'll take? See you later, Broody." He headed toward the door with his casual swagger and dwarven pride, Bianca slung across his back and glaring in the sunlight pouring in from the holes in Fenris's roof. The elf lifted a hand in farewell, waving at his back. His eyes snapped toward his blade, and he realized that polishing it might just take the edge off his nerves.

* * *

><p>Hawke did not know what to do. The sudden letter in the mail had thrown a stone at his chest and crippled his heart. He did not understand. How had they kidnapped her from the Circle? How had they managed it without him knowing? He paid the templars good money to keep an eye on his sister. Cullen was always watching her. How did a Magistrate manage such a thing?<p>

Oh, he knew who it was. Just ten minutes staring at that damned crest printed so deliberately into the red wax upon the seal was enough to bring his memory back. After all, how many nights had he listened to Fenris describe it? How many times had he seen Fenris doodle it on a spare bit of parchment after a night of drinking and laughter? It was an insignia that scarred his lover's soul, one that haunted his dreams and waking hours equally. How could Hawke not recognize it?

He was sitting in his chair at his desk, hand clenched tight around the lock of hair. Dried blood flaked in his palm, the cracking substance falling to the ground every time he opened his hand. What was he to do? It was a question he had been asking himself for the last hour. His breakfast lay untouched, cold and congealing in the bowl. There were other letters, he'd found, on the back. It outlined an exchange of some sort, a ransom. Only the ransom wasn't usual at all. They wanted a very specific item in exchange for his sister's life.

Fenris was to go back to Danarius.

The thought actually caused him physical pain. He felt bitterness well up, hatred for Danarius for putting him in such a position. He also hated himself for not keeping a better eye on his sister. He'd been so preoccupied with drinking up his time with Fenris while he could, he'd neglected his family. Again.

His fist came down hard on the wood, the bowl of porridge rattling with the force. No, he wouldn't let his sister die the way his mother had. He wouldn't lose her again to the blighted mages that roamed the world. Perhaps Fenris was right. Perhaps they were too dangerous to be allowed the same freedoms as other men. It seemed that no matter what he did to try and help their cause, they bit him the second he turned around, infecting him with their poison, killing the things he loved.

Hawke sighed and ran a hand roughly through his hair. He was being ridiculous. Blaming all mages wouldn't solve anything. He needed a tactic, something to deal with the problem. He needed to begin thinking of a way to work through it. Yet, that was what he had been doing since reading the letter. He could think of nothing. There were no clues as to her whereabouts. There was nothing to follow. The only thing he could conclude was that the meeting with Fenris's sister was a trap as he had suspected all along. Fenris would be heartbroken to find out.

That girl was his last link to the past, and of course it had to be tainted by Danarius. Hawke hated him for that. He hated the mage almost as much as Fenris did. Blind hatred wouldn't save his sister, though. The more he tried to think, the more he realized that there really was nothing he could do. Standing up, he began to pace the length of his room, hoping it would help him to think.

If he told Fenris—because of course, he hadn't—no doubt the elf would blame himself. He might even be so angry that he would blindly run in and try to save her. The consequences would be deadly, and Hawke would lose another relative. No, if they were going to pull something off, it would need to be smart. They had to use their heads and not let emotion muddy the scenario.

He growled at himself. If they were just thugs, he could bribe them. If he could get a hold on them, he would bribe them. All the gold in his vault was a fair trade for Bethany's life. He didn't care. He'd walk around naked with filthy hair. He'd go to live in Darktown at the clinic with Anders. His sister was what mattered. They weren't thugs, and he couldn't meet with them. The only time they would cross would be at the Hanged Man.

He supposed, if he had to, he could go the Hanged Man himself. Showing up along, however, might trigger them to kill Bethany outright and maybe even him. Besides, he couldn't deny Fenris the possibility of meeting his sister and killing Danarius just on a hunch. That wasn't fair. He wouldn't do that to him. It wasn't an option anyway. He didn't know where they were keeping her.

The only option seemed to be glaring at him, shouting and pointing. He could trade Fenris for his sister. It didn't guarantee her safety, but it did seem the best option. At the same time, was absolutely torn at the prospect. Giving up Fenris would invite a fight. The elf would probably rather die than go back. Hawke wouldn't blame him. Not to mention, it would no doubt ruin any aspect of trust between them forever. Hawke loved Fenris. It had taken three years to coax him back so that he could hold him in his arms, hug him, kiss him, and be near him. Those years had been torture, yet he knew he'd do it again if he had to. How long would it take the second time around? Would Fenris ever trust him again?

There was another option. If Fenris went—it didn't seem likely—then Hawke could tail them to Minrathous or wherever it was that Danarius fled like a coward. He could tail them all the way there and free the slave again, taking out the magistrate in the process. It was a lot of work. The initial betrayal could be catastrophic. He was sure that Fenris would never forgive him, but he couldn't expect or ask Fenris to remain in his old slaver's possession for his own selfish reasons. He wasn't sure the elf would.

"Too many variables," he groaned, sinking to the ground at the foot of his bed and burying his face in his hand. Why had such a thing happened? Whenever things became sweet, he found out it was only a clever disguise.

Tailing Fenris was the most appealing plan. It hurt him to even think about it, but he had to. There was a great chance that once he got to Minrathous, he wouldn't make it out alive. Fighting mages had never been his strong side. They were powerful, merciless, and could resort to blood magic. They were long-ranged fighters, not good at close combat. He'd overtaken a few, but he worked better in groups. Could he risk taking the others? How badly would it hurt Fenris to know that he was the only one Hawke hadn't trusted?

It was the best way to save them both.

Hawke peeked through his fingers at the strand of hair. Clever Bethany, sweet Bethany. He worried for her. She was a mage, powerful, and capable of handling herself. She was also his little sister, and he felt fiercely protective of her. She'd always seemed so fragile, so ready to break at any moment. She was at war with herself and her magic. She felt it was a curse, but it wasn't so easy to think of herself as one.

Orana knocked tentatively on the door, and Hawke's eyes snapped up to see her. She fidgeted, still nervous after all that time. She gestured uselessly at his desk. "You were not hungry, Master?" she asked softly. "Was it…was it inadequate?"

It took him a moment to work himself out of the web of thoughts. Glancing at the bowl, he frowned. "No, Orana, I just received some bad news. It's not your fault."

Taking a few steps into the room, she touched the bowl. "Would you like me to reheat it?" she glanced at him and then quickly away.

"No, thank you. I'll just—" he sighed. "I'm going out." Rising quickly to his feet he started toward the stairs. Bodahn met him at the bottom, and Hawke paused.

"Are you all right, Meserre?" the dwarf asked with concern.

Plastering a smile onto his face, Hawke patted him on the shoulder. "Just in a hurry, Bodahn. Where's my armor?"

"It's in the case, as always, ser," Bodahn frowned, pointing toward the study. Flashing him a quick smile he briskly walked into the study and tore open the case. His armor was shined, cleaned of blood splatters. The dents were fixed. He strapped on his gauntlets.

Once dressed, Hawke fixed his shield into place, feeling the weight. Anders had done…something to it. It was too light, too quick. The spell had been meant to increase his speed, but he just felt awkward with it. There was no time to ask him to fix it, and he wasn't sure the mage knew how. He heard voices in the foyer and, after sliding his sword into its sheath, ventured out to see who it was.

Too soon, he thought.

Fenris was there, along with Isabela and Anders. They were all strapped into their armor, ready for a fight. Isabela's knifes glinted on her back while Anders pet the dog who was covering his face in slobbery kisses. The new staff in his hand was much more powerful, imbedded with lyrium dust and runes made by Sandal. Hawke glanced at Fenris last, realizing that he was actually going to betray him. He'd already accepted it before he'd even made his way down. The elf was frowning as he studied the mage, his arms crossed. Something was bothering him. He glanced up quickly when Hawke entered the room.

"I see everyone's already here," the human said slowly, glancing at all of them. Isabela smiled and winked. Anders stood up and smoothed his robes. Fenris glowered at Anders. "Are we going?"

"Only if you want to, Hawke," Isabela quipped. "I'm sure Fenris would be willing to wait another lifetime, so don't hurry yourself."

"If it's a fight, we want to be prepared," Anders defended immediately, as loyal as a mabari.

"If we're going, let's go," Fenris muttered, obviously uncomfortable with Anders being there. It was a personal affair of his, Hawke supposed. No one wanted their worst enemy along for that.

Hawke sank his fingers into his palm and glanced at the picture of his mother. She looked so regal, not at all matching the last image he had of her, so broken and torn on that cold floor. Her body had gone cold in his arms. It still hurt him to think about it. He couldn't let the same thing happen to Bethany, no matter how much he loved Fenris. Steeling himself, he schooled his expression. "You two, meet us outside. I need to talk to Fenris."

Isabela immediately perked up as Anders started to obey. "Oh, really? What about?" She shot the elf a curious glance. He looked startled.

"If I wanted you to know, I wouldn't be kicking you out," Hawke reminded her gently. He put a hand on her shoulder and guided her around.

"Oh, but I want to stay!" she protested as he shoved her toward the foyer to follow Anders. He thought he saw a smile on the mage's mouth as they both exited.

The silence was deafening, and Hawke took a shaking breath before turning around. Fenris was staring at him expectantly, arms crossed, on guard. Wasn't that the story of his life? Always on guard. As if Hawke could ever hurt him. As if he would try.

_I hope it serves you well, _he thought at Fenris bitterly. _I hope that it will help you forgive me._

"Fenris, I…" he trailed off and glanced at the empty fireplace. "I want you to know something before we do this." Fenris was waiting on him to speak. Were he a different person, he probably would have interrupted. The setup was familiar. Anyone would know what he was going to say. Fenris looked pained, but he wasn't going to stop him. He wouldn't exert his will on anyone like that.

Hawke took a few steps toward him and put his hands on the elf's upper arms, squeezing gently. He caught the elf's eye, glittering blue meeting the dark, swirling depths of the smaller man's. "I love you," he told him and then kissed away any complaint or awkward silence that might follow. It was slow and torturous, and Fenris met him halfway, arms coming up to slid around Hawke's waist. Hawke crushed him to his chest, kissing him harder for fear he might lose him sooner. Could Fenris taste the desperation? Could he sense the betrayal?

When they pulled apart, Hawke closed his eyes against the oncoming pain. He'd never felt so filthy in all his life. He unwound Fenris's arms from his waist and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Forcing himself to smile, he opened his eyes. "Come on, time to meet your sister."

"Hawke," Fenris said, scrambling. Hawke kissed him again and winked. Fenris let it go easily. Gripping the smaller fingers once, the human let go. Both of them walked outside and refused to comment or respond to Isabela's teasing. What had happened, Hawke hoped, would help him later when he tried to explain. Maybe what he was doing wasn't right. Maybe there was another option and he was just too stupid to see it. For now, it was all he had to go on.

The walk to the Hanged Man was quite, solemn. As if they all knew what was coming. Varric made a few jokes, to which Hawke smiled softly but didn't comment. Isabela flirted shamelessly at his back with Fenris, a few passersby, and even him though he paid no attention. When they finally cut through to Lowtown, Hawke opened the door to the Hanged Man with more confidence than he felt. As they stepped inside, he saw that it was mostly empty. The redheaded elf at the table caught his eye immediately, and Fenris walked over to her.

"It really is you," she whispered into her clasped hands, only glancing at him once before quickly looking away.

Fenris's voice was soft. "Varania? I-I remember you. We played in our masters courtyard while our mother worked. You called me…" he paused, struggling.

"Leto," she supplied, standing up. There was something in her expression, something stained with sadness. Hawke shifted into a defensive stance. "That's your name." Fenris noticed it, too.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Why are you so...?"

Hawke's hand fastened onto Fenris's shoulder and spun him toward the stairs. "It's a trap," he said.

"Ah," said a voice that was high in pitch and laced with arrogance, "Fenris, predictable as always." The person…the thing that sauntered down the steps was no human. Anders stiffed beside Hawke, sensing it just as immediately. There was a demon's touch there, so noticeable that it made the room colder. His skin was ripe, cracked with scars and wrinkles. The greying hair was wispy and smoothed over a shining skull, revealing too much forehead. Lips twisted into an self-satisfied smirk, and Hawke nearly felt sick. Was he really going to do it?

The look on Fenris's face was awful. At first there was disbelief which slowly melted into fear. Anger appeared, and he whipped around to glare at Varania who hung her head in a most pathetic way. She was near tears, drops of water sparkling in her endless eyes. "I'm sorry it came to this, Leto," she whispered, biting her lower lip.

"You led him here," Fenris accused hatefully.

"Now, now, Fenris," Danarius chided him as though he were a child, "don't blame your sister. She did what any good Imperial citizen should." Hawke wanted to laugh. That was the issue.

Fenris snarled, revealing his pointed elven teeth. "I never wanted these filthy markings, Danarius," he spat, "but I won't let you kill me to get them."

The mage raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. The chuckle raised the hair on the back of Hawke's neck. "How little you know, my pet! And this is your new master then? The Champion of Kirkwall? Impressive." The way his putrid eyes raked across Hawke's body made him angry. He wanted to avoid his gaze, but he instead matched it. Standing up straighter, he made a decision.

He had to be strong. His voice had to sound believable. Years of lying to fool guards away from Bethany finally paid off. He schooled his expression into a blank mask. "If you want him," Hawke said, steeling himself, "he's yours." Amazingly, his voice didn't crack. Only his heart did.

Everyone reacted with surprise, but Hawke only looked at Fenris. The elf's eyes widened, and he glanced at Hawke sharply. "What?" he demanded as if he didn't believe him. That, at least, gave Hawke hope.

"I thought I was the only one thinking that," Anders muttered from behind.

Isabela bristled with indignation. "Give him back to a slaver? I…" she couldn't even finish her sentence.

"Interesting," Danarius cooed, eyes drifting over Fenris like a prize. "I'll make it worth your while of course. The power of the Imperium will be at your disposal."

Fenris's sharp, talon-like fingers gripped his wrist, digging into his skin. Hawke felt the tips break through and blood dribble down his arm, but he didn't feel it. He glanced down at the ribbon around the elf's wrist, a piece of his armor—his heart—given away in a moment of sentiment. Fenris had always kept it, cleaned it, and wore it like a badge of honor. Hawke didn't want to see the betrayal in his eyes, but he had to make sure that Danarius believed it. He met the elf's desperation with an icy smirk. Fenris was appalled.

"Don't do this, Hawke. I need you," he murmured, eyes searching. With steady hands, Hawke gripped his hand and jerked away, aware now of the wounds in his arm. Hopefully he would have a scar. He deserved that much and worse.

"You're on your own, Fenris," he snapped, taking a few steps back away from the crumbling elf.

Then that careful guard came up. It fell into place like a failsafe, the tremble in his hands disappearing, the hurt in his eyes masked behind anger and tension. He backed up as well. "I suppose I should not be surprised," he growled balefully.

"So, what shall it be, Fenris? Will you throw your life away?" Danarius demanded, crossing his arms. Fenris's face fell, and Hawke could see the cogs turning in there. He hoped. He prayed to the Maker, a deity he didn't believe in, that Fenris would give in. If he fought, it would have been for nothing. Fenris would attack him, and he would have to fight him off and defend him at the same time. He wasn't sure he could do that and stay alive.

Slowly, the elf turned around, hanging his head. "No," he whispered shamefully. "I will go with you." What hurt more than anything was that sentence. After so long, would he really give up?

"Lovely!" the mage smiled. "Here's a token of my appreciation, Champion." Danarius waved a hand, and a guard approached with a satchel of gold. Reluctantly, Hawke spread his hand and let the weight of coins fall there. "I'm sure I can arrange to have something more…appropriate sent along soon." The flirtatious note in his voice made Hawke shiver unpleasantly.

"Come along, everyone!" he called to his guard, including Varania. "The boat leaves for Minrathous within the hour!" As he brushed past, Hawke felt the awful feeling of magic sweeping over him. It brushed against him in intimate places, whispering against his skin. He pulled a face.

Fenris did not move immediately. He seemed frozen in place, one hand locked around his wrist. Suddenly, his fingers tangled in the red ribbon, and he ripped it off, letting it fall to the ground. Hawke felt his stomach drop out as the elf violently stomped past him toward his old master. It was done.

As they shut the door, Hawke didn't hear Isabela yelling at him. All he heard was that final slam.

_I'm so sorry._

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading. Review please.<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: Strawberries**

**Rating: M**

**Summary: Some things must be broken completely before they can be fixed. Male Hawke/Fenris**

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Review please.**

* * *

><p>"<em>Love is sweet, like fruit. If you put it to the test too soon, however, it can be awfully bitter."<em>

Chapter 3

Isabela was livid, shocked, and angry all at once. She stomped her foot and demanded to know why he had done it. When he didn't answer, the slap echoed in the empty tavern, and he felt the blood rush to his face. He would explain later. As she tried to smack him again, he caught her wrist and pinned it lightly to her side. The ribbon on the floor caught his eye, and he knelt to pick it up. The weight of what he had done settled in his stomach like a rock. Fenris was gone, and there was little time to get him back.

Suddenly there was a commotion upstairs, and Hawke immediately drew his sword. Isabela sobered and did the same. Anders crouched, fire licking at his palms. What they saw, though, made them all drop their defense. Bethany came crashing down the staircase with her hands tied behind her back, legs bound, and a gag stuffed in her mouth. She was bruised and bleeding. Hawke dropped his sword and rushed forward to catch her as she fell on the last step, feeling her warmth in his arms.

In the heat of the moment, the awful emotions swirling in his head, he'd forgotten all about his sister. He was glad that the Magister kept his word at least. She was safe, home. He pulled a dagger in his belt and sliced the ropes binding her wrists. Steadying her waist against his shoulder, he cut her bound legs. She removed the gag with trembling and bloodied fingers and threw herself into his arms.

"Brother!" she gasped, fingers curling in his undershirt. Her greasy hair touched his face. She was soaked with sweat and ale, as if they'd been drowning her in it. "I didn't think you'd come! Maker, what happened to Fenris? Are you all right?"

It must have suddenly clicked for Isabela. She opened her mouth wide, shut it, and then opened it again. Anders exclaimed, "That's why you let Danarius take him?" He sounded disappointed.

"Hawke…" Isabela flailed, putting a hand over her mouth. She was speechless.

Moving out of Bethany's caging embrace, he put a steadying arm around her shoulders and a hand on her belly. He glanced at the both of them. "Yes, I couldn't let Bethany get hurt. Now, we need to track them. If we can catch them before they make the boat…" he looked to his sister. She was injured and needed care. He couldn't risk sending Anders or Isabela with her, and he couldn't beat Danarius with just two people. They needed to regroup.

Isabela seemed to get a hold on herself. She rushed forward and took Bethany off his hands. "I'll take her back to the mansion so Bodahn can call the medic." Hawke nodded, almost wishing that Anders could go with them.

"We can't risk it," Bethany groaned into the pirate's neck. "Just take me to the Tower. They'll lock me up in isolation for this, already. If they don't kill me."

Hawke took her hand and squeezed. "I won't let that happen."

"I could take her," Anders stepped forward. "She could hide in Darktown with me."

"No," Bethany shook her head. "It's one thing for you to hide out there, but it would be impossible for me. I'm not healer. I'd just get underfoot. Not to mention that I cause enough problems for my brother as it is."

Despite the fact that he would have loved for his sister to be out of the Circle, Hawke grudgingly agreed. "I can't keep the both of you safe," Hawke told Anders tentatively. Time was running out. He needed to go after Fenris.

"You two go," Anders said to Isabela and Hawke. "I'll tell Aveline on the way back to your house, and she can meet you at the docks. We can't risk calling a medic, but I can do my best to patch her up before the templars get their hands on her. When you come back, you can take her back to the tower, Hawke." He didn't seem particularly fond of the idea, but he seemed sincere.

Isabela hesitated before guiding Bethany over to Anders. The mage curled his arm around her, holding her tight. Her eyelids were drooping, and she was resting more on Anders than standing on her own. "Tell Varric to meet us, as well," Hawke said. "Come on, we need to get going." Isabela nodded fiercely.

Catching his sister's face in his hands, Hawke pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'll be back. Anders will take care of you." She nodded, trembling hand coming up to clap him on the shoulder. She tried to smile, but the muscles in her mouth didn't seem to be working. Pushing his concern aside, Hawke glanced back and Isabela. The two of them ran out of the Hanged Man as quickly as possible, the mages on their heels.

The group split apart as Isabel and Hawke went for the docks. Hawke only hoped that when Danarius had said 'within the hour' he hadn't meant immediately. Large crowds surrounding merchants and guards blocked their paths. Several times they were forced to go around buildings to get to where they needed to go. Isabela even convinced Hawke to climb up the side of a house to get around an armorer who had set up shop right in the middle of the path.

By the time they finally stumbled down the steps to where the old qunari compound had once been, Isabela had to stop to gasp for air. She put her hands on her knees, the other hand around Hawke's wrist as he surveyed the area for sign of the ship. "Hawke! I'm not…I can't…run….anymore," she panted. Her usual dark skin was red, gleaming with sweat. They had been running rather quickly, but all that time in the Hanged Man hadn't been kind to her.

Hawke was panting, too, but the adrenaline was keeping him going. "Yes, you…can," he said, pulling her. She shakily clambered after him. "If we let them get too far…they'll be…on a ship to…Minrathous! Who knows….who knows what Danarius…will do to him there." Rapidly, they made their way down three flights of steps where the large, wooden ships were docked. There were crowds of people piling onto them to various locations: Ferelden, Amaranthine, and Antiva. Hawke searched frantically for a shock of white hair anywhere. Fenris was hard to miss, after all, even in a crowd.

He skidded to a stop just at the end of the stairs, hoping to find him easier from an elevated position. "I don't see him anywhere," Isabela said, standing by his shoulder. "Did…are you sure they…didn't have another ship?"

"You have to dock here," Hawke snapped, nerves fraying. What if she were right? "Kirkwall keeps track of all the…the boats that arrive."

The crowd was thinning as more people left. One of the enormous boats pulled out, sailing off. Hawke felt his heart sink, eyes running so quickly over the mass of bodies that he probably wouldn't have seen them anyway. "We're not going…to find them," he whispered, hope draining.

Isabela seized his hand. "There! I know those tattoos!" He didn't even get the chance to see them. Isabela yanked hard on his arm, and they ran in a full sprint down the stairs, ducking around bodies. The pirate became vicious, pushing men and women out of the way. In the thick of things, it became harder to move. It almost seemed as if the peasants were deliberately blocking the way.

Hawke nearly tripped over a little girl who screamed for her mother. Everyone was beginning to panic as they violently shoved their way through. "Fenris!" Isabela screamed over the crowd, jumping up into the air as the people split and quickly went home. Mothers were gathering their children as the second ship—this one was bigger than the rest with dark red sails that gleamed maliciously—pulled away from the docks.

"Fenris!" Hawke called out, hoping to see him at least once before he disappeared to Minrathous. "Fenris!"

"Hawke," Isabela grabbed him. "He's on that ship! I saw him!"

Everything went away. The voices disappeared, the gentle lapping of waves and shouting of seamen. Hawke felt his feet moving, heading toward the ship so quickly he nearly fell to the ground. Isabela was close at his heels, shouting over myriad of sounds for Fenris. She was yelling his name. The ship was already thirty feet from the dock. He would have to swim to get on it.

Suddenly the dock ended, and Hawke didn't hesitate to jump in. The cold water hit him like a powerful spell, freezing all his muscles in place. Locked for a moment in shock, he broke through to the surface and swam toward the hull. His armor made him sink like a weight, but he knew how to swim and swim well. The ship loomed like a great wave, ready to crush him. He didn't care. Distantly, he heard Isabela curse and jump in after him. It seemed he was faster than his objective because he was at it in only a few moments.

His fingers curved perfectly into the grooves, giving him just enough room to climb. The water soaked his clothes and made him heavy, armor clanking. Climbing proved just a little more difficult for that, but he managed. First one step, then another, he managed to scale the great side and finally seize the railing to haul himself all the way up. Rivaini was at his side, choking and sputtering on sea water. She nearly dumped herself over the side, looking very much like a wet cat—indignant and frightened all at once.

Hawke threw himself over the railing and drew his sword only to be met with the frightened faces of several filthy-looking women all chattering in a familiar language. Isabela stood up, swiping the wet hair from her face. She approached them, speaking in the same language. For some reason, Hawke couldn't replace it. Still, his heart sank. How many nights had he listened to Fenris speak in that beautiful Tevinter dialect? Whatever these people were speaking, it wasn't that. This was rapid and slurred. He watched Isabela's shoulders slump.

"This is a boat for…for Antiva," she explained wearily. "They haven't seen a mage and an elf."

"Damn it!" Hawke swore, jamming his foot hard into the railing. He braced his large hands on the wood, leaning over it as water dripped from his nose. "We missed them."

"Hawke!" a familiar voiced called from the edge of the docks. He glanced up to see Aveline's brilliant red hair as she waved, looking concerned and apprehensive. Varric's hand was resting on Bianca, eyes wary as they searched. Most of the crowd had vanished.

"Come on," Isabela said, putting her hand on his shoulder and casting a glance warily back at the women. "I know the captain of this ship, and he won't be happy to see that we're on it without a ticket."

Nodding wordlessly, Hawke sheathed his sword and began climbing back over the edge. Once he was safely back on the dock, he fell to the ground, leaning heavily against a bunch of barrels pressed against the wall. He put a hand over his face and felt the crushing disappointment. Now Fenris was miles away with a mage who would no doubt kill him the moment they were in Minrathous. He listened with a heavy heart as Isabela explained the situation. Aveline was somber. Varric was disappointed.

"Broody?" he exclaimed. "But why didn't you just tell him, Hawke? We could have saved your sister."

"I couldn't," Hawke said, "because what if something like this had happened?"

"Well, now something like this has happened," Aveline broke in. "It's happened, and nothing's going to change that. Now, what do we do about it? We can't just leave him to that madman."

"We're not going to," Hawke replied, getting to his feet. Salt water was beginning to crust in his clothes, chafing against his skin. His hair was nearly crystallized. "I'm going to Minrathous to find him."

"Minrathous?" Isabela squeaked. "You must be joking, surely. It's nearly a week's voyage away."

"So?" Hawke snapped. " Maker, it nearly broke my heart to give him away in the first place."

Varric sighed. "That's another thing. Will Fenris even want to be rescued? Rivaini just said you put on quite the performance."

Hawke glared at the pirate. "It had to be believable. Danarius couldn't know what I planned."

"It certainly was believable," Isabela remarked, wringing out her hair distastefully. "You had me in hysterics."

"Not a hard thing, that," Aveline scoffed.

"Anyway," Varric spoke up, looking at the both of them warningly, "can you get to him in time?"

"If I leave right away?" Hawke asked. "Yes, I can."

"Hawke, this is madness!" Aveline said, grabbing his shoulder. "You can't stay away that long. Bethany needs you. I need you, and I can't go with you. Please."

"What would you do?" Hawke bit out, jerking away from her touch. He didn't feel worthy of it. He didn't feel worthy of any of them. "What would you do if it were Wesley?" He regretted it the second he said it, not missing the wince she let show.

Aveline thought, letting her hand fall slowly. Her eyes went dark as she bit her lip. Finally, she met his eyes, and there was a steely reserve there. "I would go, and I would not look back."

"Exactly," he said, clapping her on the shoulder. "I'm going to save him."

"He'll probably never forgive you, you know," Isabela enunciated. "The look in his eyes…that was naked, raw betrayal, Hawke. He—well, I don't know him that well, but he was hurt. Badly." It wasn't meant to torment him. She was just warning him. Hawke sighed.

"Even if he never forgives me, even if he hates me," Hawke told her, "I have to save him anyway. This is my fault. He went in there expecting me to have his back no matter what. I sold him out to save my family."

"Anyone would have done the same, Hawke," Varric said. "I would have. You even planned to go after him."

"It was a bastard thing to do," Hawke said to the dwarf. "You don't have to try to make it sound better."

"I wasn't," Varric said softly.

Isabela ran her fingers through her hair, trying to comb out the slimy ocean water. Varric put Bianca away, as clearly there would be no fighting. Hawke settled against the wall, thinking. It was true, what he had said. If he wanted to catch up with them and save Fenris on time—assuming that Danarius would wait until they were in Minrathous to extract whatever power was containe din the elf's marks—he would have to leave immediately. There were so many things to do in preparation, yet he didn't have time for any of them. He'd have to go home, grab money and weapons, and head out the door.

"I'm coming with you," Isabela told him, nearly reading his thoughts. "You can't take out an entire mansion full of mages on your own. Denarius is strong. He's a magistrate, and I'm coming."

Instead of arguing, Hawke was grateful. She was fast, powerful, and she knew how to distract guards like no other. He could use her. In fact, her prowess would be invaluable. "Thanks," he said.

She smiled but didn't answer.

"I wish I could go," Aveline said sincerely. "Captain of the Guard, however, means I need to stay here. I can have some of my men keep an eye on your mansion. Other than that, I won't be much help. There's too much to do here." She seemed apologetic.

"Void, I'll come, too," Varric sighed. "What else do I have to do but keep you out of trouble? I suppose you'll want Blondie along, as well?"

"He is a healer," Hawke considered, "but I can't ask him to leave his patients for so long."

"His patients can stuff it," Isabela huffed. "Anders owes you a lot, Hawke, and Varric, too. Besides, he's a wanted apostate. Leaving the city for a while might help with his psychosis." She flicked her hand dismissively.

"It would do him some good to see that not all mages are treated like scum everywhere," Aveline agreed. "It would also help to get rid of the tension in Darktown."

"All right," Hawke groaned. "I'll ask him, but what about Bethany?" He looked to Aveline.

She bit her lip. "I can…help a little. The Templars aren't really my responsibility. They do what they please when they please. I'll appeal to the Knight-Commander. Tell her what's gone on. Hopefully she'll believe me."

"Cullen won't let her get hurt," Varric said. "He's a good man. For a Templar."

"Okay," Hawke sucked in a breath. "I guess we should catch the next boat to Minrathous. I'll let you two…grab your things." He glanced at the both of them.

The dwarf held up his hand. "Hey, I'm doing this for Broody as much as for you. Without him, you'll be a nightmare to be around." Smiling, Varric headed off toward the Hanged Man. He would have to give up his suite for a while.

Isabela shrugged. "Anders always said I had a heart of gold. Who knew?" she blew Hawke a kiss. "I'll arrange for a boat to leave tonight at sundown." Grimacing at her wet shirt which left nothing to the imagination, she sighed. "And some dry clothes. Meet me here. I'll tell Varrric." She raced off in the direction of their other companion.

After a moment of silence in which Aveline and Hawke watched them go, Aveline looked at him up and down. "I hope you know what you're doing, Hawke," she said warily.

"I don't," he admitted. "I'm not even sure we can win, but I love him. And I have to try." There was such pain in his voice. He saw her dark eyes soften just a little. She knew loss. She could understand.

"Right," she huffed, "big hero and all that. I wouldn't want you to give up on a challenge." Smiling she touched his arm. "Next time, Hawke? Let us know what the trouble is." Nodding once at him, she set off at her own pace toward the Keep. Hawke let his head hang as he stared out at the water. The boat he'd mounted was nearly a speck on the horizon as the sun began to sink. Wandering men and women spoke around him, remarking on his wet clothes. He ignored them.

A gentle breeze came out of nowhere, raising the hair on his arms as it blew sleepily through. The water glittered as though it were sprinkled with diamonds, soft waves lapping at the mossy dock. He swiped a hand over his forehead. Fenris would hate him. The rest didn't know him as Hawke did. They didn't know how long it had taken to win his trust, his love. What hurt the most, though, was how easily that trust had been broken. Fenris hadn't challenged him at all, hadn't brought up his love declarations. He had simply given up, as though Hawke's betrayal was inevitable. It hurt deeply.

Maybe he hadn't done as good a job as he thought in making sure that Fenris knew he loved him. Hawke began a slow jog back toward his mansion. It would take him nearly twenty minutes to make it home at such a pace, but he felt suddenly rather weary. Running full hilt all the way from the Hanged Man to the docks had taken a lot of energy, especially in such heavy armor. At the same time, he was on edge. His eyes were opened a little wider, his hearing just a little more acute. Despite himself, he sifted through the crowd on his way back, looking for a lanky elf with glowing tattoos.

Bodahn met him at the door, expressing his sorrows. "Serah Anders is taking care of poor Bethany. She seems rather on edge."

"Have Aveline contact Cullen when Bethany's well enough to return," Hawke said, brushing past. "I'm sure that the Templars are probably on their way here. Meredith knows I'm not above hiding my sister."

Up the stairs in Hawke's room, Anders was leaning over a supine Bethany with life-giving magic glowing at his fingertips. He ran his hands along her bruised calves, soothing the ache and healing the small cuts. Her hand was on her belly, eyes closed. She almost looked asleep. When Hawke entered the room, her eyes popped open. "Brother?" she asked sleepily, lifting her hand and wiggling her fingers.

He caught the hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Brushing back some hair, he smiled at her as he sat on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Better with Anders's help," she said wearily. "They didn't do much besides kick me around a little. Well, a lot."

"Most of it is superficial," Anders reported. "They're small cuts, bruises, and the like. She did have a cracked rib, though."

"Thanks, Anders," Hawke said.

Anders glanced up, a spark of something catching in his eyes. Then he smiled. "Sure thing."

Bethany sucked in a breath. "You're going after him." It wasn't a question.

"You always did have Mother's intuition."

She tried to sit up, but a firm hand kept her down. "But! All the way to Minrathous?"

"Yes."

The light died on Anders's fingertips, and he sat back, running a hand through his hair. "You need me to come with you." Again, it wasn't a question.

"I want you to," Hawke clarified. "You don't have to if you don't want to, Anders. I know you have an obligation to your clinic. I wouldn't dream of getting in the way of that. This is, after all, my fault."

The mage pulled a face. "I don't relish the idea of going to rescue that hypocrite," he growled, then softened. "But you are a good friend. If you need me, I'll go. Hey, who knows? Tevinter might be my kind of place."

Bethany huffed. "You two are idiots!" she chided. "Brother, you are very poor at fighting mages. There will be an army at Minrathous."

"I don't care," he said simply, shrugging.

Biting her lip, she squeezed his hand before glancing at Anders meaningfully. "Please, take care of him?"

"He won't die on my watch," Anders told her confidently.

"I wish I could go, too," she sighed. "I'm probably going to be killed for blood magic."

"Don't joke about that," Hawke winced.

"It's not a joke," she said seriously. "The Knight-Commander is really cracking down. True or not, by my will or not, I 'escaped' the tower. They'll assume I'm using blood magic. Maybe Orsino will fight for me."

"Aveline and Cullen will protect you," Hawke reassured. "There's no way I'm going to let them hurt you."

"You won't be here," she reminded him gently.

That was true. Hawke made sure to reassure her, waiting until Anders was completely done with patching her up before leaving the room. He packed clothes, mostly just simple things to be worn beneath his armor. Potions and poultices went into a small bag. He even opened the vault and took out a few pouches of coins. Anders went home to gather his own things and make sure the clinic would be running while he was away.

Isabela showed up just as he was sifting through papers. Her wet clothes had been changed for drier ones of the same texture and color. Her hair was pinned up, and she hefted a dark bag over her shoulder. All in all, she was ready to go. Just after her, Varric came along, complaining about how Nora wouldn't hold his suite for more than two weeks.

Soon after, Anders shuffled in with a morose look on his face. He spoke quietly with Isabela while they waited for Hawke. Bethany limped down the stairs when her escort arrived. Cullen, along with two faceless Templars, and Aveline gently took her arms and guided her back to the Circle. Cullen was unnaturally sweet to her, carefully taking her hand and helping to support her. Hawke would have to watch them more. It seemed almost intimate.

With one last look at his home, Hawke nodded at them all, grateful for their presence.

_I'm coming, Fenris._

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><p>Fenris couldn't believe how stupid he had been. He literally could not believe it. The promise he had made after months of outrunning Danarius. What had it been? Never trust anyone. And he had. He'd trusted Hawke enough to watch his back and guard his heart. In one swift blow, the warrior had destroyed it all. Maybe it was Hawke's fault for being a bastard. Maybe it was Fenris's fault for thinking anyone could care so much about a slave.<p>

When Hawke had given him up, his heart had shattered. He was literally torn in half. On one hand, he would rather die than go back with Danarius. On the other hand, Hawke—the very man who had so badly betrayed him—had taught him that life was no so bad. He did not want to die. He did not want to cease to exist because he had a reason to exist. It was only when he'd felt the cold words again as he relived the moment that he realized his reason to exist had just put a knife in his back.

Danarius was pawing him like a prized possession recently reclaimed. He was speaking meaningless words, whispering in his pointed ears, running calloused hands over his skin, and touching the marks that burned like fire. Magic, potent and dirty with blood, caressed him like a lover. It took him a moment to feel the repulsion he'd felt before. Being around Merrill and Anders had made the sensation familiar. The stink, however, still raised his hackles.

While they were waiting for the boat, Fenris felt like destroying something. He felt like wringing Hawke's neck, and his heart rejected the image. Perhaps he had truly fallen in love, and more the fool he was for it. Perhaps he'd give himself over completely, and Hawke had shown him how bad a move it had been.

_Love_, he thought, staring at his hands, _what a monster._

He had a sudden hope that Danarius would kill him outright. Maybe the magistrate would keep him alive, using him to breed like a fit animal. Slaves were often paired together. Would the taste of a woman's lips chase away the burning passion he still felt for Hawke? Would soft hands be enough to quell the want? He doubted it. Hawke had ruined him in more ways than one.

A hand gripped his jaw and forced his head up. "Your previous master has instilled some bad habits into you, Fenris," Danarius spat. "You'll need to be retrained."

"I am not your slave," Fenris enunciated slowly. The punch sent him sprawling to the floor where he stayed like a beaten dog. Humans and elves and dwarves alike all gasped and stepped back. Danarius seemed to notice. "They are not used to such displays. This is not Tevinter."

"No," Danarius agreed slyly, straightening his robes, "but soon we will be home, pet."

Fenris got to his feet reluctantly. He wished suddenly for his sword which was being carried by one of Danarius's guards. As if he couldn't kill them without it. Yet it would be a suicide run. Danarius could kill him in a moment, using blood magic of course. A fair fight was out of the question.

"Ah," the magistrate exclaimed, "here is the boat. Come along, Fenris." Danarius stepped around him, boarding the boat the second it docked. Fenris hesitated, wondering distantly if he could run. He did not want to go back, but he also did not want to leave Kirkwall. For all its strangeness, it was home.

A guard prodded him in the back, and he snarled, baring his pointed teeth. She did not relent, shoving him violently forward. He cast a single glance back at the docks before walking forward. If he had not been so certain that it was impossible, he might have thought he heard Hawke calling for him.

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><p><strong>Is Aveline out of character? I think she is a bit. Tell me what you think. Thanks for reading. Review please.<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: Strawberries**

**Rating: M**

**Summary: Some things must be broken completely before they can be fixed. Male Hawke/Fenris**

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Review please.**

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><p>"<em>Don't be afraid to go out on a limb; that's where all the best fruit is!"<em>

Chapter 4

Hawke realized quite soon that he had underestimated his ability to stay entertained. The first few days were fine as Varric had brought a pack of cards and Isabela was such a cheat that they could spend time trying to catch her. Each of them learned at least one new trick. Anders spent most of his time healing the rat bites that seemed to come guaranteed with staying in the underbelly of a cargo ship. Isabela hadn't been able to find another ship leaving so early just for passengers. She'd had to bribe an old friend of hers to let them board.

Also, an old memory of being shoved in a small boat with a hundred other Ferelden refugees came to mind. Hawke found himself longing for the shore and dirt. It almost made him sick, and he spent a lot of time on deck where he could breathe in the fresh air. Isabela went with him every time, either to drone in his ear about how glad she was to be at sea again or to flirt shamelessly with any man who could pick up a cargo box. Hawke didn't mind. In fact, she was almost a welcome intruder. He'd always lean on the railing and stare out at the endless horizon.

Perhaps the most interesting thing that happened was also the most shattering. On the fourth day, Hawke was leaning over the railing just as the sun was setting. It cast a delicious golden hue over everything, making the water glisten like molten lava. Most of the workers had gone down to eat. Only a few stragglers remained to clean the deck, the captain drinking merrily at the helm. Hawke didn't know the man, but he seemed to drink a lot.

From behind, the familiar sensation of magic buzzing against his skin alerted him to Anders's presence. The mage came up beside him and leaned against the railing, peering down at the water. "I just lost three sovereigns to Isabela's cheating."

"Ouch," Hawke chuckled, "I told you playing was a bad idea. Varric says Cogs is a better player than you."

"A mabari can beat me a diamondback?" Anders exclaimed. "You must be joking."

Hawke shrugged. "Take it up with Varric."

A sudden wind blew at Hawke's hair, moving the unruly spikes around and into his eyes. He brushed them away, standing up straighter. It had been a long journey, and he was afraid of what that would mean for Fenris. Was he even still alive? Did Danarius have a single reason to spare his life? Technically, they'd left for Minrathous on the same day, just a little delayed. Surely Danarius wouldn't kill him on the ship. He couldn't have those kinds of resources or that much lyrium to perform the ritual.

"You're worried about him," Anders accused grimly.

"Yeah," Hawke admitted, putting a hand over his eyes.

The mage sighed, turning away. "Hawke, I don't know what it is about him that you like so much. He's moody, and he loses his temper far too easily. He's like a wild animal." Hawke frowned and glanced at Anders, but the man wasn't facing him. There was a considerable droop to his shoulders. He also seemed on guard, as if expecting a blow.

"I don't know either," Hawke confessed, moving closer. Lapping waves of electricity met his skin more frequently with each step. "You're completely right, but I want to be with him all the same. Even if I didn't, I can hardly just give him to Danarius. Fenris is a free man. That mage has no right." The Champion had been careful to balance his relationship with Fenris and Anders. While he supported mages, there was a wariness that was there. From having a sister who could do magic, he understood the dangers better than most. He knew that a trapped mage was like a cornered animal, and he reacted accordingly, even if it was against Anders's beliefs. Somehow, he'd managed to become friends with the both of them.

He remembered suddenly the first night he had met Anders in the dark undercity. The clinic always smelled of disinfectant. Bethany had commented on the bleeding magic from that place, most of it coming from Anders. In those early days, Hawke and Anders had clashed and clashed often on their beliefs. Familiarity and many apologetic nights full of wine had eventually tempered their relationship into one of smooth understanding.

"Do you remember," Anders said, "that night you came to the clinic with that new bottle of wine?" Hawke started in surprise. They must have been thinking the very same thing.

"Yeah," the Champion chuckled, clapping Anders on the back. "How can I forget? Mother's scream still hurts my ears just thinking about it."

"How often does a mother find her son sleeping on the dirt floor in his small clothes curled up with another man?" Anders asked rhetorically, turning to face Hawke. "I still can't believe that she came all the way to Darktown to find us." There was that something in his eyes again, sparkling mischief mixed with great sadness. It caught Hawke's attention every time it was there.

"More often than she would have liked," Hawke shrugged, still smiling. "My first lover had to crawl out of the window at night. A wealthy noble crawling out of a window! You should have heard him whine. Father would have killed me for bringing such attention on the family."

"You didn't stay at his?" Anders blinked in surprise, but that something didn't leave his dark orbs.

"No," Hawke shook his head, wistful. "He was one of those nobles that wanted to 'experience poverty'. He got more than he bargained for."

The mage put a hand on Hawke's arm. "You are mad," he said, leaning close. It was all in jest, however, and Hawke caught himself chuckling.

"So I've been told," he answered. "I guess that's something we have in common, huh?" His heart gave a twinge all of a sudden. He was having fun talking with Anders while Fenris was probably shoved in the bottom of a crate somewhere, forgotten and alone all because of him.

The elf had fought all his life. It didn't seem fair somehow that Hawke would get an easy ride no matter what he did. Even chasing after his lover—a man he had betrayed in the first place—didn't really get to him. It seemed nothing would anymore. The heartbreak returned as a feeling suppressed often does at the worst point in time. His smile fell from his face without his consent, and Anders's hand slid from his arm.

Ander sighed. "You don't have to be so noble all the time, Hawke."

"If I wasn't, who would be?"

"Good point," the mage relented. They fell into a companionable silence as the boat rocked from side to side. Once he would have been put off by the dense air, thick with Anders's presence and power. Now, he found it rather soothing. The magic almost lulled him to sleep by the time the mage spoke again.

"You know, you're the first man to ever relax so much with me here," he noted amusedly.

"Am I?" Hawke smiled, rubbing at his wrist absently. He backed up, his back against one of the thick mastheads, and crossed his arms. "I am, of course, assuming that women have, then?"

"Women are easily lulled into a false sense of security," Anders said seriously, but his smirk matched Hawke's. "My old Commander was the only exception I've found to that rule. But men? They're on high alert even when they're sleeping with me."

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "You've been sleeping with the wrong men."

Anders's face became much more serious in that moment, and the most interesting sensation overcame Hawke. It was like a sudden turning in the wind, only there was no wind on such a stale, dark night. The sun had set while they were talking, and both of them were cast in shadows. Instead of the coolness he'd been feeling against his skin, it was warm. The buzzing turned into intrusive waves that slid under his shirt and over his collarbone, hot like a whispering lover.

"Anders, what are you doing?" Hawke inquired idly as the mage came closer. Before he could put the pieces of the situation better, though, his mouth was captured in a sweet kiss. A hand gripped his hip, and the magic from the fingers flowed out against his groin, bringing so much heat and raw pleasure that he groaned into the kiss. Anders looped his arm around his neck, crushing their mouths together so hard that their teeth clicked.

Strangely enough, it was that feeling of ivory meeting ivory and that familiar and distinct sound that made Hawke think of Fenris. He immediately felt the differences: too soft, too large, wrong smell, wrong taste. Lyrium didn't hum against his skin. Anders's hands weren't calloused from years of learning to wield a sword. He wasn't lanky and petite like the elf, but built and slim at the waist. He smelled of medicine and tasted like winter.

With more restraint and kindness that he perhaps should have exercised, Hawke unwound the arm around his neck and took the hand from his hip. The kiss ended at that, and Anders stared up at him with hurt in his eyes. There was pain but also resignation. It was as though he had expected it to happen but had ventured to try anyway. Hawke didn't say anything. The influence of power died, leaving the night distinctly quiet and without sensation.

"I'm sorry," Hawke whispered, cupping his face and pressing a kiss to his forehead. Sliding out from between the masthead and Anders's trapping form, Hawke bowed slightly and excused himself. He went down into the cargo hold, washing his face and drinking several glasses of water to calm down. Sure, it hadn't been Fenris's touch, but it did have an effect on him. He realized he was acting like an ashamed child when he bedded down early, ignoring Varric's attempts to get him to play diamondback.

The next few days, Hawke avoided Anders like the plague. It wasn't difficult as the mage seemed to have basically the same idea. Using a woman's intuition, Isabela slowly figured out that there was something going on between them. She prodded, provoked, and tried to bribe both sides. Neither one broke, and she spent the rest of the trip investigating. She didn't get much other than a few angry glares and the fact that Hawke never went back up on the deck again until Anders was asleep.

Minrathous loomed before them, a city of cone-shaped towers and enormous buildings. The castle dwarfed every other building that Hawke could see. The docks were expansive, nearly running the length of the entire coast. There was very little beach space. Once land was in sight, Hawke entirely forgot his silent pact and ran up to the deck to look out. Isabela, Anders, and Varric all joined him.

"Maker's breath," Varric breathed, "how are we going to find him?"

Isabela glared. "He's a tan elf with white hair and silver markings all over his body. How could we not find him?"

"Danarius is a magistrate," Hawke explained. "We'll be able to find his mansion or castle or tower if we ask."

"Can you feel that?" Anders asked. "The presence of magic is nearly overwhelming."

Hawke could feel it the second he mentioned it. Stronger, as though he were standing directly in the path of a spell, waves pushed against his skin. Buzzing electricity formed a film around his body, crackling against his clothing and hair. It nearly stung with intensity, building up on his tongue so it was like swallowing syrup. Even Isabela put a hand to her throat.

"How do people breathe this?" she inquired. It was truly like trying to breathe in smoke. The oxygen was there, but it was clouded with other things.

"They're used to it, I imagine," Anders answered. "They're mages, after all."

"Not everyone is," she coughed.

Varric glanced at them all with a raised eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

Hawke met Anders's gaze. "I guess you wouldn't feel it, Varric," Anders explained, breaking eye contact. "You're a dwarf."

The dwarf shrugged. "Oh well."

"You're not missing much," the pirate complained.

"It's not that difficult," Anders told her, patting her on the back. She swiped at his hand, and he danced out of the way.

"Anyway," Hawke said, getting them back on track. "We need keep a look out for Fenris. He only left a few hours before we did. He can't have gotten far."

"Do you think that Danarius has already done the ritual?" Isabela wondered aloud. Varric stomped on her foot, gesturing to Hawke. She swore.

Hawke smiled. "It's all right. I don't know. I hope not."

When the cargo ship docked, they were pulled away from the crowds of arriving guests to where the boxes would be kept. Men boarded the ship, all dark-skinned with black hair. They spoke in the same Tevinter language, all smooth syllables and quick words. They also, Hawke noticed, did not speak with the same accent that Fenris did. As they picked up the boxes and began to move them to the warehouses, the captain came to shoo the four of them off the ship at once. Isabela thanked him for allowing them on, but he was more concerned with hiding the smuggled cargo before the inspectors came than paying attention to her.

Fetching their things from the belly of the boat, they hopped off onto the docks. Each of them breathed a sigh of relief, Varric especially so to be on land again. Hawke had noticed he'd looked a little green during their voyage and didn't like to go up on the deck very much. He'd even taken his meals downstairs and ate very little. Isabela was moody about arriving, but she was very interested in the architecture. Hawke, however, was scanning the crowds for a moody elf with strange markings.

After conferring for a while, they decided to go to an inn. Isabela wanted a drink, and the best place to learn secrets was to ask the intoxicated people there. Besides, Hawked decided he needed a drink, too. As they walked around, they found one that was not as nice as the Hanged Man—or so Varric complained—but it was packed full of mages practicing and young lovers dancing away. Isabela confided that it was the perfect place to eavesdrop.

So Hawke sat at the bar with his back to the rest of the patrons, listening as intently as he could while ordering a drink. They didn't all speak in the Tevinter dialect, he soon learned. There were actually at least three Kirkwallers that he could hear. Nursing his mug, he closed his eyes and listened intently.

"I wish she would just quit, I hate to fire her-"

"The baby is only a month old! I can't go back now-"

"That stupid duster is going to pay for what he did-"

"Knife-ear!"

"I hear Danarius finally pulled in this morning—" Hawke paused mid-sip. There were two guards, a male and a female chatting softly in a corner. As quietly as possible, he picked up his mug and moved just a bit closer to hear better.

"Yeah, he finally got his knife-eared pet back," the woman smirked.

Hawke smiled along with her and settled in to gather as much information as he could.

* * *

><p>The memories it brought back to be in Danarius's mansion again were nearly overwhelming. He almost expected Hadriana to appear from the dark, stone walls just to prod him with hot irons and taunt him with food he could never have. And it was dark. He recognized the room as the cellar where people who didn't serve the magisters were often brought for 'interviews'. The shackles chafed, and he felt slightly bad for the men he'd once beaten. Even as a slave, he'd thought himself above them. Now he was being prosecuted for the same crimes.<p>

He didn't know what Danarius had expected. Had he thought that he would bring Fenris back, and Fenris would just fall into line? That when his old master snapped his finger, Fenris would bring him food? That he could remember to hold his tongue? No, he was irreversibly changed. Hawke had been a part of that, and the elf silently thanked him even as he condemned him. No one deserved such a fate. Not even the lowliest of slaves.

Hawke's face came into his mind, and he flinched involuntarily. The pain was surreal, sitting like a weight around his heart. Some part of him still couldn't believe it had happened, but he supposed one didn't have to be a mage to brainwash another person. Hawke had made it seem as though he'd never betray Fenris almost so it would hurt just that much more when he did. Fenris didn't want to think about it. The effects were too painful. He closed his eyes and swallowed the memories. He would deal with them another time.

Shifting his foot, the telltale jingle of a brace around his ankle told him it was still there. Long ago, his extremities had gone numb from the cold. His eyes had adjusted to the pitch black darkness of his cell, and he could see almost all of the torture devices lying around. They glinted, cleaned and sharpened, on mahogany and ironbark desks in jade cases with lyrum-etched handles. They were wrapped in things too expensive and precious to hold such awful instruments.

He had no way to mark the time, but it had been a while since the skittish slave last came in. She was strange-looking, with eyes set too far apart and a long nose that was too close to her wide mouth. She was not excessively ugly, but she was not attractive. Fenris guessed she must have been recently acquired as she was rather emaciated, and Danarius treated his slaves well in that regard. After all, a starving slave couldn't work very well.

Arching his back in the darkness, he wiggled his fingers a bit to get the blood back into them. Being chained to the wall was not a new experience. Often Hadriana had done it for some mindless offense he had caused her—breathing too loudly or speaking too softly. Once his height had gotten on her nerves. She was easily provoked, and he felt a smile come to his mouth at the remembered feel of her cold, black heart clutched in his fist.

Despite the awful betrayal and events that had followed, Fenris couldn't look back on his time in Kirkwall with a sour mood. Everything about it had been new and exciting, and it was made more so by the stolen moments with Hawke. He'd never shared it, but those moments had sometimes kept him going. A sweet kiss, a subtle caress, and those nights when he read to Hawke. They had been frustrating at first, but as he learned more, it had become such a relaxing feeling. He could remember Hawke's enclosing arms as they sometimes read on the bed, Fenris's ear pressed against the fluttering organ in the human's chest.

There had been bad times, of course. Hawke was often injured and sometimes moody. After his mother had died, he'd been so guilt-ridden that no one wanted to be around him except Fenris and Aveline. They fought tooth and nail at times about whether the fate of the mages was a fate deserved or not. Hadriana's hunting him down had proven a dark time for him, but it had led to something wonderful. Those years after that night when he'd gone his own way, always craving that touch and that whispering voice also proved to be meaningless. It had strengthened their relationship even more. Or so he had thought.

The part that hurt the most, he suspected, was that he didn't know how much had been a lie. Fenris caught himself thinking about Hawke again and bit his tongue to drive the memories away with pain. He didn't want to think anymore. He didn't want to feel the enclosing walls and long for a human's steadying hand. He didn't want to listen to the silence and hope to hear a deep baritone telling him it was all right. Most of all, he didn't want to hope that Hawke would rescue him. The cold finality in his eyes had told Fenris he knew what he was doing.

Yet there was a part of him that didn't believe it. Fenris hated himself for that, and he hated Hawke for making him believe in their feelings so absolutely.

He had thought Hawke would cross oceans for him, fight off a hundred mages, and even give his life without hesitation if it had come to that. Apparently, he had been wrong.

The door cracked open, a splash of light spilling over the floor. The beam landed right between his eyes and became wider, stretching and blinding him until a small body blocked it out. The elven girl with the wide mouth came in with something in her hands. She set it down on the ground next to him. Fenris saw that it was a bowl of liquid, and she was toying with the lump in the middle. A rag. Wringing it out, she gently brought it up to wipe the blood from his mouth.

He jerked away.

"Please," she whispered, catching his chin and turning his head back. "If I don't do this, they'll beat me again."

Fenris glanced at her instinctively, taking in the fresh bruises that hadn't been there before. Her lip was split just like his. His welcome home had been ripe with play. There were no mirrors in Danarius's house because the mage didn't like to see his aging face. Danarius was very vain. Fenris supposed that was why the girl was cleaning him up. A magistrate's prized possession shouldn't be hit on the face. Anywhere else was fair game.

He held still if only to save her a little pain as she wiped at the blood on his face. There must have been more there than he originally thought, because the water became a rich vermillion rather quickly. She shook hesitantly as she moved. He wondered if he had ever looked so pathetic. He wondered if he would look so pathetic again. Then he wondered when he became such a proud creature.

There was no doubt in his mind that Danarius planned to take his memory again. In fact, had there been any doubt at all, Danarius would have blown it out of the water. In one day, he would become a lost slave again bowing mindlessly to his master's will. His master had said so. It would have been done the second he arrived—A magistrate needed his best bodyguard—but Danarius needed time to gather the appropriate amount of lyirum required. He was grateful for the reprieve. It gave him time to think while his will was still his own.

But think of what? Hawke? No, he didn't want to do that.

There were other good memories: playing cards with Varric and Donnic, training with Isabela and her charming attempts to get him into bed, and talking with Aveline. They were not as sweet nor as pure as his time with Hawke, but they were there. He held onto them like a lifeline, hoping and praying to whatever God was watching that something would happen. He didn't want to be lost again. What happened to a person when his memories were stolen away?

The slave finished up with minimum spilling, and he felt pity again as she turned her back. She was so small, so young. A cold wave of fury shot through him as he realized that she had the same color of hair as his sister, the traitor. Clenching his teeth, he glanced away.

The moment he did that, he heard a shriek of surprise, and the bowl clattered to the floor. His blood scattered on the stones, and he glanced at the door to see what had startled her. Another slave had braced his hands on the doors. "Come quickly, Arcia! The mansion is under attack!"

"What? By who?" she cried.

"I don't know," the slave growled in annoyance, grabbing her arm and beginning to haul her away.

"Wait, but what about him?" she pointed at Fenris. He flexed his arms, testing the strength of the steel. If he could break the chains, he could escape in the chaos.

The male slave appraised him quickly. "I don't have a key. Leave him," and he yanked the girl after him. She had the dignity to look pitying as she disappeared around the corner.

Just moments after they were gone and Fenris began yanking on his restraints in earnest, an explosion rocked the entire core of the mansion. Dust showered down from the stone, coating him in a fine layer of debris. He coughed as it entered his lungs and festered there. The screams rose up from all around. Someone was truly assaulting the mansion, but who? He tried to quell the hope that was seated against his heart.

As if to make that seed grow, he heard unmistakable voice. "Varric, I can't see anything in this mess!"

It was Hawke.

* * *

><p>Isabela coughed in the aftermath of Varric's well-placed bomb. He'd nearly set the entire estate on fire and leveled the first floor. There were bodies strewn everywhere and quite a few servants or slaves running around screaming in terror. She nudged a rock with her foot and glanced at Hawke. He pulled his collar over his nose to keep from breathing in the dust and fumes. Whatever was in that bomb, it was potent.<p>

He glanced at Varric. "I said 'catch them by surprise' not 'burn the entire building down.'"

The dwarf shrugged. "Technicalities, Hawke. Burning the entire building down would catch them by surprise, you have to admit."

Anders sighed, clicking his staff onto the ground. "We going in?"

Hawke swung his sword over his shoulder. "Where does a magistrate keep his prisoners?"

"Dungeon?" Isabela shrugged.

"Good enough for me," Hawke said, starting forward. "We go down."

"Hmm, that's the best way," Isabela said lewdly, drawing her blades. They glistened in the firelight, sleek and deadly. Whatever she was, she was efficient with a blade. Varric pulled Bianca out of her case, balancing it on his hip as they made their way past panicking staff toward what Hawke predicted was most likely the cellar. As they made their way toward it, however, the first of the shades appeared. Isabela nearly ran clean into one, smacking its claws out of the way with her blades.

"Maker," she hissed, leaping out of the way as another came from the walls. Hawke seconded her exclamation, moving away until their backs were pressed together. Varric soon joined. They were surrounded on all sides. Hawke counted at least twenty shades. Anders readied a freezing spell.

"It's a good thing we brought so much firepower," Varric yelled as one of the demons lurched forward toward him. He pulled Bianca's trigger and speared it through the chest, effectively pinning it to the wall. The second he did that, the entire mass of them descended, and the group had to split apart.

Anders cast a devastating fire spell that melted the room with its heat. Hawke actually had to use his shield to fight off the licking flames rather than the shades it was burning alive. They writhed and screeched as he sunk his blades into them, watching as each one turned into a black ink and bled into the ground.

They continued like that for quite a while, each one attaining mild scratch marks and burns. To Hawke's surprise, there didn't seem to be many soldiers there to protect Danarius. The moment he thought that, though, six or seven of them came down the stairs.

The fight was brutal, and Hawke received quite a few injuries. One of the archers managed to nick the side of his neck, opening an artery that caused Anders to drag him around to the pantry door and heal it frantically. Blood bubbled over his collar and onto the mage's hands. The room smelled of death and ashes and fire. Hawke trembled with exertion, hearing the sounds of battles from just a few feet away. Soon they were both back into the fray.

Only when the bodies were strewn around them, and Hawke had killed more shades than ever before did Danarius show himself. He started clapping slowly, and Hawke swiveled his head toward the stairs. His hand was pressing against the wound in his neck, and his sword arm was drooping. Anders panted by his side, almost out of mana. The pulsating feel of his magic was reassuring against his back. Isabela came up to the mage's side and tapped him on the shoulder with a bottle of lyrium.

"To think my little wolf didn't expect a rescue!" Danarius laughed, bracing his hands on the railing and peering over at them. He was immaculate in dark blue robes, and he appeared ten years younger while bathed in his own witchlight.

Strength returned to Hawke. He shouted, "Where's Fenris?"

"Where he belongs for disobeying me," the mage answered cryptically. "It doesn't matter. You'll soon be dead. I do, however, have one question to ask you."

"I don't care," Hawke raised his sword, panting.

"What is he to you? My slave that escaped and ran for a few years?" the mage asked, producing an intricately decorated staff. Two soldiers came to his side as if summoned from thin air, wielding quick blades and heavy shields. "He was never so strong-willed. You changed something in him."

"No," Hawke said, shaking his head. "He always had it in him. You suppressed it and hid it away because you feared it. That's what slavers do. You make people fall on their knees around you because you lack the self-confidence to stand on your own." Hawke lifted his sword and pointed it at Danarius. "And once I cut you down to size, I'll drag you to him so you can fall at his feet. It's less than he deserves, but it's the only present I can give him."

The soldiers ran down the steps toward him, and he swung his sword in an arc, slicing into the thin flesh of the man on the left's bicep. The soldier dropped his blade with a frantic cry. Hawke plunged his sword into the man's chest, twisting violently and then ripping it out. Magic, hot and heavy, singed the air as someone called fire to his will. Isabela popped up behind the other man and sank her daggers deep into his back, severing the spine. The man toppled over. Varric was shooting arrows at Danarius. The mage's fingers were glittering with ruby blood, a miasma of blood magic pouring from his body.

Ice formed in the air, slowing them all down as the temperature in the room dropped at a startling rate. Hawke charged Danarius as the mage gathered up a ball of lightning. It flew straight for his chest, but he managed to dodge by throwing his weight against the wall just in time. The crackling sphere of energy smacked into the railing and dissipated. Varric sent an arrow flying right into Danarius's upper shoulder. The mage screamed something terrible, his magic temporarily disrupted as he began pulling on the arrow. Hawke took advantage quickly and smashed his shield into Danarius's body.

The magistrate fell back onto the floor, and Hawke delivered a heavy kick to his ribs. Anders ran up the stairs and was at his side in an instant. He slammed his palm onto the ground, gathering the will to freeze. A coolness settled in the air and then onto the floor. Anders concentrated as Hawke kept Danarius down. Spider-web veins of ice spread out from the middle of his palm, stretching toward Danarius with a vengeance. They grew up and over his body, effectively sealing him to the floor with a thick layer of ice.

Hawke panted and moved away, collapsing against the wall. Anders shot him a worried glance, but he waved it away with a weary hand. Varric raced up the staircase with Bianca still at the ready. Isabela wasn't far behind.

"Did we win?" asked the dwarf.

"Not yet," Hawke groaned, pushing off the floor. Danarius was cursing fluently in Tevinter. He glanced up at the human with wild eyes full of fury. Hawke placed the tip of his sword at the magistrate's throat. "How the mighty have fallen," he remarked with some irony. "Where is Fenris?"

The mage was silent for a moment, seeming to take in the situation. "In the dungeon," he admitted at last, "where the rest of the useless, foreign trash belongs."

"You're coming with me," Hawke told him, moving the tip of his sword down. He nodded to Anders, and the ice began to slink back. Immediately, Hawke dipped the point of his weapon into flesh, through cloth. He cut the tendons in the knee with a practiced hand and ignored the shrieks of pain. Hauling Danarius to his feet, he started to drag the mage down the stairs.

They found the dungeon rather easily, helped along with the delirious mumblings of Danarius. He was bleeding quickly, and Hawke wanted to give Fenris the satisfaction of killing him old master. It was a sort of devious apology, though he was certain that he wouldn't be receiving a hug and a kiss from the elf upon their meeting.

Hawke found him in a filthy cell, chained up and alert like a dog expecting trouble. With the exception of a few bruises and a busted lip, he seemed completely unharmed. The breath of relief he let out upon seeing him didn't go unnoticed. Fenris was more alert for it. He clenched his long, tattooed fingers and sat up straighter, a steely glint in his eye. Hawke nodded to Isabela who rushed forward and began deftly picking the locks.

Varric searched for the elf's armor, producing only one gauntlet but the carapace and the leggings easily enough. His sword was close by, a poor choice for security, really. Hawke allowed Fenris to get dressed, avoiding watching as he yanked on the tough leathers over the thin prison garb he was wearing. He was hesitant to hand over the weapon until he knew just how Fenris would act upon seeing him. They all waited in silence.

Once he was dressed, he looked at all of them and then at the bloody mess in Hawke's hand. Hawke saw his hackles raise, his eyes narrowing. The human tossed Danarius at his feet. "A present for you," Hawke said simply, taking the sword from Varric's hand and tossing the enormous blade to Fenris. The elf sheathed it, though, and kneeled down. The glittering in his tattoos sparked into life, a glow that spread across his entire body like magic.

He lifted a whimpering Danarius off his feet, staring him straight in the eye. "I am not your slave, anymore," he spat. Danarius began to hemorrhage violently. His chest exploded, warm blood staining Fenris's face as he let the body fall with disgust. It hit with a thump, and Fenris took a few threatening steps toward Hawke. The rest of them backed up, but Hawke stood his ground.

Soon they were nose to nose, a human and an elf, two warriors facing off. While Fenris glittered dangerously, Hawke was cool and calm. He had fought and shed blood to save his lover. The betrayal might not ever be repaid, but it was a start. If Fenris wanted to harm him physically, who was he to stop him?

"Come on, Fenris," he whispered, his heart picking up a notch. He didn't know why he was goading him on. The rational part of his mind rebelled, turning his vision into a blur. "All it takes is one hit. You could kill me in an instant."

"Hawke!" Anders exclaimed.

Fenris's eyes searched his frantically, moving back and forth as if to find some hidden plan there. He wouldn't find one. His fist clenched, body shaking. The glow increased.

"Don't do it," Isabela cried. "What are you saying, Hawke?"

Hawke didn't hear her. He only had eyes for his lover. "Are you ready to be all alone?"

Something snapped inside of him. Fenris's mouth popped open, his eyes widening as the glow in his markings immediately faded. He stepped back, hands going up. It was as if Hawke had hit some secret place inside of him, and the tension bled away. Anders breathed a sigh of relief. Varric was watching with interest.

"Guys, let's go," Isabela said to the mage and the dwarf. She tugged on both their sleeves, pulling them toward the exit. Each left reluctantly, but it was a kindness that Hawke would not forget.

Taking a deep breath and putting a palm over the wound in his neck, Hawke reached into his pocket. He produced a pouch of coins and grabbed Fenris's hand. The pouch fell into the elf's palm. Long fingers closed over it. A ribbon—and it was so recognizable, bright red, worn with age, an unmistakable part of Hawke's old armor—was tied around the bag. "The money that Danarius paid for you, and a little something more. I owe you that much."

Fenris looked at him with distrust, and it hurt more than it should have.

"I'm not asking for anything, Fenris," Hawke said. "I wouldn't expect you to trust me ever again, but they had Bethany. I had to let them take you. If there had been another way…" he trailed off. "But you're not interested in my excuses. You never were. There's enough money in there to get you to wherever you want to go."

He backed away. "I didn't lie when I told you I loved you."

The elf clenched the bag even tighter.

"You're finally free," Hawke told him. "I wouldn't expect you to stay with me anymore, especially after what I've done. I'm going back to Kirkwall." Finally, he turned his back on Fenris. Somehow it felt right, like he was at last doing what was good for the elf. "Goodbye, old friend."

* * *

><p><strong>Last one should be up in a few days, but there's a reason I never set deadlines. I'm not happy with the way this turned out, and I may edit it later. What do you think? Input is lovely. Thanks for reading. Review if you enjoyed.<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: Strawberries**

**Rating: M**

**Summary: Some things must be broken completely before they can be fixed. Male Hawke/Fenris**

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Review please.**

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 5<span>

So Hawke left with the rest of them in tow, making sure that Fenris would have no opposition as he exited the mansion. Much to the disapproval of Isabela, they all left without the elf. The trip back proved no less dull than the trip there, and Anders still avoided Hawke as though he were a potent poison. They did seem to melt back into their old friendship when they were forced to be together, though. They joked and laughed. Hawke found himself more than once remembering the fiery passion of the kiss and feeling almost wistful.

After a long trip on a boat that actually was meant to carry passengers, they docked in Kirkwall. Everyone went their separate ways save for Isabela who stayed behind with Hawke as he set his bag down on the cool, dusty earth and stared at the ground. He felt as though he'd just suffered a great loss. Sure, he had been brave and collected when he'd given that bag of coins over. He'd also meant every word he'd said. He knew, however, that when he went home to his big, empty house that the truth would hit him. He was finally all alone.

To succeed at saving Fenris's life and memory was more precious than anything he could have asked, but it had been his doing in the first place. The loss was a thick, heavy stone that sat in his gut and brought up unpleasant memories. Carver and his mother and Bethany, all lost in some way. Two were dead, gone forever. Fenris had been the only family he'd been able to touch, to hold. The elf had been more important than Hawke wanted to admit, and he felt a burning in his eyes.

Isabela didn't say a word, but she put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly.

Some part of Hawke wanted to believe that Fenris would come home with him. It wasn't even mildly likely, but the heart longed. When faced with the absolute possibility that he had ruined everything, shattered completely what they had, he'd wanted Fenris to take some sort of payment from him. A ruptured heart or stomach was a small price to pay. His death in exchange for Fenris's life? He would have made the trade any day. Instead, he was home and safe with a just a few new scrapes while Fenris was on his own again, as cynical as the day they'd met.

Hawke gave Isabela a firm nod. Picking up his bag, they both headed their own ways.

Once back home, Hawke greeted Bodahn with as sincere a smile as he could manage given the circumstances. He politely declined telling the story just yet, but no, Fenris did not come back with them. Yes, they had rescued him. No, he didn't know where the elf was. Bodahn quickly realized that it would become a sensitive subject and ran a bath for him. Orana took his armor to clean. He was much more filthy than he thought, and he was very tired. It took him an hour to sew up the wound in his neck because his hand would fatigue from holding the mirror. After he was scrubbed and shaved and clean, though, Hawke retired to his room.

He slept the rest of the day and most of the night away. When dawn was just breaking over the horizon in a parade of bright pinks and yellows, he yanked on a fresh pair of cotton pants and a tunic and headed downstairs to begin his work. Bodahn greeted him cheerfully, and he was delighted to see Orana try to convince him to go back to bed. It had taken a lot of coaxing, but she was growing a backbone. After wolfing down his breakfast, he decided that work would probably take his mind off things.

It didn't. He found himself thinking of Fenris more than once. Everything he did seemed to bring up the elf's memory. When he took a bath, all he could think about was that morning before he found out Danarius had stolen Bethany and ruined their relationship. When he had to read anything, he thought of their lessons. Even the fireplace—where Fenris had braced his arm after their first passionate night of sex—brought up his smell and the familiar taste of his kisses.

Kissing, it turned out, brought up another memory. The ghost of Anders's lips lingered on his, burned like a seal into his mouth. Even though it was absolutely ridiculous, he felt as though he had somehow betrayed Fenris by allowing that. There was no denying that he had enjoyed it either. The gentle lap of pleasurable magic against his skin hadn't been bad. In fact, it had almost reminded him of the sea. It didn't matter that he had stopped it before anything had gone on. He still felt dirty.

When it was nearly dark, he donned his less heavy armor and made his way out into the street. It was abuzz with some sort of shopping seminar, the wide alleys filled to the brim with overflowing merchant wares. Hawke made his way around them and ducked down toward the darker areas of Kirkwall—away from the stuffy nobles and to a place where a man could pass out drunk in the safety of his own home and still be murdered. Darktown stank of rotten garbage and refuse, built so closely to the sewer. Poison merchants replaced hat shops and run down shacks replaced beautiful statues and architecture. Elves too poor to live in the alienage bled from the stone to grab at his pockets and beg for food and money. He stepped over quite a few drunkards to get to the clinic.

There was a distinguishable change in the air near Anders's clinic. Magic, for one, swirled about the place like a miasma. Hawke paid more than one Templar off to ignore the scent of it, leaking from the hospital as though there were a tear in the Veil itself. The stench of medicine was pronounced, antibiotics and sweet-smelling herbs and remedies. More than one patient stumbled out with new bandages or a writhing baby in their arms.

When Hawke slipped inside the clinic, he was met with the familiar smiles of Anders's part-time helpers. A blonde woman swiped hair from her sweaty forehead and smiled at him. The kid she was treating smiled to show off the new gaps in his teeth. "Anders!" she called into the backroom. "Your friend's here. Go right in, honey," she said to Hawke as he approached, finishing up the bandage on the child's arm. "He's probably just writing in that manifesto."

Thanking her, Hawke headed into the backrooms to see Anders scrubbing furiously at his hands. He glanced up at Hawke with a smile, but there was tension in his eyes. "What? Are we going on a daring adventure already? I have to say, I'm still tired. You may have to carry me," he teased.

"Not yet," the warrior indulged him, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. "What have you been doing?" The water that Anders was washing his hands with was the unmistakable color of blood.

"Birthing a few babies," he answered with a shrug. "Twins, and screamers at that."

Hawke wrinkled his nose. "Ew," he didn't try to hide his disgust.

Anders laughed. "I'll make sure never to ask you for help."

"Don't get me wrong," Hawke said, "it's a beautiful thing and all. I just don't want to see it. Ever."

Mirth twinkled in the mage's eye as he wiped off his hands. They were still stained red, but the blood was gone. "Given your tendencies, I doubt that will be a problem." His shoulders tensed, and he slowly set down the rag. Obviously he hadn't meant to bring that up. Hawke sighed.

"We can't go on like this, Anders," he said, sliding around the water basin and setting a hand on Anders's shoulder. "We need to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about, Hawke," he answered. "You made your answer clear. If it's…if it's at all possible, I'd like to go back to being friends. You're the best friend I've ever had." Hawke had to swallow at the look in Anders's eyes. They were so sad, so desolate and begging at the same time. A shiver came over him at the remembered touch, and he felt that same guilt at betraying Fenris again. But should he feel guilt for having physical reactions? It was a thought for another time.

Hawke rolled his shoulders and crossed his arms, looking out toward the rest of the clinic. The soft scent of the sea snuck in sometimes. It added a crispness to the musky odor of Darktown. The warrior glanced at his mage counterpart, the drawn features. Anders was handsome, he supposed. There was a ruggedness about him and a tortured, hungry look. He was hungry for Justice, for power, and freedom. Maybe he deserved someone, but Hawke's heart beat for another person—a slightly less muscular, broodier person that was gone.

"I can't be what you want me to be, Anders," Hawke told him gently. "We can be friends, but I can't be more than that." He didn't want to give mixed signals. Their friendship was what he valued.

Anders let out a breath, swiping a hand through his hair. "I was stupid to do it in the first place. I'd like to…start again. If that's all right with you?" He held out a hand, and Hawke shook it.

"I'd like that, too."

Hawke felt better after mending things with Anders, and he stayed for another hour. Anders was always busy when he was at the clinic, so they talked quietly while Hawke handed him things like bandages or sutures. Work was great for keeping the mind busy, but he wanted to go check on Bethany. He left after an hour, and he managed to get in to visit his sister in the Circle.

He had visited the Circle in Ferelden once or twice to spy or gather information. It was nicer there with winding halls and a grand library. This was more like a prison, but Hawke attributed that more to the fact that the Gallows actually was a former prison rather than the fact that the people from Kirkwall seemed to have a major lack of tolerance when it came to mages. His sister was teaching a class when he was escorted to the library. The title of Champion did give him a few privileges. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame until she was done.

Tiny hands shot into the air as she asked a question, eager bodies bouncing up and down. Bethany was sickly, thinner than usual. Her skin was pale, and she walked with her arm tucked tightly against her ribs as if they still caused her pain. Even her long, black hair was lackluster. When the lecture ended, she turned to him and gave a tired smile. He moved around the young mages and enveloped her in a tight hug.

"You okay?" he asked as he pulled back.

"Yeah," she answered a little shakily, "as well as can be expected when you're waiting to be sentenced to death." There was a world of weariness in her voice that wasn't there before. Her eyes looked dull, but she was trying to inject a little bit of happiness into them. It made her face a myriad of pain.

He gripped her jaw gently and turned it from side to side, eyeing the bruises that were yellowing. A silver sheen over her face hid most of them as did some sort of makeup. Hawke figured they were probably worse than he was seeing. "I thought we took care of that." He hoped. A feeling of selfishness came over him. He'd been so preoccupied with wallowing that he hadn't given a thought to his sister's situation.

"It's over now," she said, prying his hand away. "Don't worry about it. Orsino and Aveline have it handled. More importantly, how are you doing?" Bethany had an amazing power, one even greater than her magic. She had their mother's intuition and the ability to see Hawke's pain even when he was trying his hardest to hide it. "You don't look like Fenris came back with you. Oh, Maker, is he…?" the mage's eyes widened frightfully.

"He's fine," Hawke assured her, taking her hands and squeezing her fingers. They were cold. He took a step back, massaging her knuckles. "At least, I think he is. He didn't come back with me—with us." The sorrow in his voice was audible even to his ears.

"Oh, Brother, I'm so sorry," her face crumpled. "This is all my fault."

"No, Bethany," he shook his head. "No, I don't want you blaming yourself. " Hawke cast a glance around. Two Templars were lingering against the wall, their faceless helmets seeming to stare right at them. There was definitely a feeling of tension in this Circle. He didn't like it. He didn't want his sister to be here. "You've got other things to worry about besides me. You know I can take care of myself."

Her gentle fingers touched his face, pads running over the scruff that was growing there. A day later and already he had a light stubble. Her cool fingers felt good on his feverish skin. "He was good for you, Brother. I'm sorry. What are you going to do now?"

"Yeah, me, too," he sighed. "I don't know what I'm going to do. Guess I'll focus on this whole mage versus Templar business." He squeezed her hand meaningfully. "Protecting what's left of my family." The smile was hollow and didn't touch his eyes.

"You're all I've got in the world," she told him sincerely, eyes twinkling. "I love you, but don't put my happiness above your own." It seemed like a warning. Hawke was about to reply when someone interrupted him.

"Bethany!" a voice called, and Hawke instantly recognized it as Orsino. His sister jumped nearly out of her skin and looked at him. Relief smoothed her features. "Oh, I apologize, Serah Hawke. I didn't recognize you," the enchanter paused before them. Hawke let go of her fingers, and they separated.

"No harm done," he shrugged. "I'm a little bruised."

"Yes, you are," Bethany eyed him. Her eyes zeroed in on every injury, seeking them out like a beacon. And he'd done his best to hide them, too.

"Uh, the next class is gathering. Adrianni is sick. Did you want to cover? Or are you otherwise preoccupied?" he glanced at the both of them, but he seemed to be asking Hawke more than her. The warrior tipped his head toward his sister in deference, holding up his hands.

Bethany stood on her toes and kissed Hawke's cheek. She lingered, whispering in his ear. "We better not spend too much time together. It'll give them ideas." She rubbed his shoulders before stepping back. "All right, Enchanter. We were just finishing."

"Take care of yourself, Champion," Orsino beamed as he turned to leave. Bethany smiled at him before leaving.

Hawke left as soon as her black hair disappeared around the doorframe.

At home, he fell onto his bed and took a nap for a few hours. Cogs crawled into bed with him and woke him up late in the evening. Orana brought him tea and cakes. At his request, she sat and penned a few lines for him. Her reading skills were getting better, and he insisted upon the lessons. Though he teased her about needing to practice more, he let her go early. All he could think about was holding Fenris in his arms while that warm voice read to him lines of romantic poetry and deep prose. It was meant to be a distraction. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect.

Hawke only nibbled at the food offered to him, and the tea grew cold without so much as a glance. The former slave eventually snuck in to quietly whisk it all away. Hawke wrote in his journal for nearly an hour, and when the sun sunk below the horizon, he got up from his chair and stretched until his spine cracked unpleasantly. Padding over to the fireplace, he stared at the flames for another five minutes.

It felt like he was waiting. He didn't know what for, and he eventually gave up and went to bed. He lay awake for what seemed to be hours, his dog snoring peacefully by the dead fire. Hawke tossed and turned, staring at the canopy over his head. Eventually he fell into what seemed a limbo—a place between consciousness and unconsciousness. Every little sound made him jump in surprise, jolting him awake as though someone had dumped cold water on his face. He stayed in that state for so long that he didn't understand what was reality and what was a dream.

He heard the footsteps in a state of acute sense, and he started awake as he had been doing for the last few hours. Cogs had long since abandoned his vigil, and Hawke was alone. He reached over in the dark to grab the sword he kept stashed beneath the bed. The cool handle helped to slow his palpitating heart, and the rush of blood was just a little quieter in his ears. Gently, he eased himself out of the bed and wiggled his toes against the carpet.

Straining though he was, he couldn't hear any other noises. The room was far too dark to see anything, and surely Cogs would have noticed an intruder way before he did. Easing up until his back was pressed against his wardrobe, he ran his hand along the wood until his palm was flat against the top. Fingers closed over his flint, and he used his feet to feel his way toward the fireplace. If he could light the fire, he could at least see what he was fighting.

Holding his breath, he struck the flint and threw the sparks onto the tinder in the hearth. It burst into flames, and at the same time something hard struck him from the side. His sword was knocked from his hand, clattering against the wall. He grappled, kicking out with his foot, but whoever it was expected this move. Long fingers wrapped around his ankle and stopped the motion. Suddenly he was looking into endless eyes, obsidian orbs that bled with emotion. Hawke's breath caught in his chest, and he surely hoped he wasn't dreaming.

Fenris smelled of rain and leather. The scent overwhelmed Hawke's senses to a point of pain. At the same time, his heart seemed to stop beating. Droplets of rainwater dripped down from snowy hair and onto his bare abdomen. There was such an expression on the elf's face that he had never seen before. It was a potent mixture of pure desire, pain, and tragedy. Hurt forgotten, Hawke wanted to hold him so badly. He truly hoped that the Maker wouldn't be so cruel as to torture him with such an image.

"Fenris, what are you—" but he never got to finish because Fenris knocked their mouths together in his typical way. There was such familiarity in that action that Hawke's stomach flipped at the sound of ivory meeting ivory. The kiss was all teeth and tongue, no gentle nips as usual. Hard fingernails trailed down his belly and over his hips, scratching and digging. Fenris was on top of him, weight pressing down. His armor cut deep, cold metal making him hiss. He was soaked to the bone. His teeth were sharp, and his hair was soft as it brushed against Hawke's face. Lanky, moist limbs tangled quickly with his. Hawke buried his hands into that soaking hair, nails digging into the elf's scalp.

If it were a dream, he was going to enjoy it.

They broke for breath, but Fenris didn't stop for a second. He trailed kisses down over Hawke's jaw and biting at his collarbone almost viciously. Pointed, elven teeth sank deeply into the stitches at his neck, and he yelped in surprise as the blood flowed. When Fenris pulled back, it dripped from his mouth. He appeared a vampire, bronze skin lit with firelight while his silken lips dripped with crimson. The next kiss was less awkward, but it tasted of iron and pure desire. Hawke sank into it, pulling Fenris down and crushing the lithe body to him, drinking deeply of his flavor and ferocity.

The elf shifted slightly, and they were moving against each other. Fenris's sharp, armored fingers cut deep into his hips, parting skin and lighting nerves on fire. The pain was intense. It made Hawke's arousal flag for a moment, but the feeling got better when a warm tongue ghosted over his chest. The air became colder, warm skin pressed flush against him. The elf was wasting no time, fumbling with the drawstring at Hawke's waist. With shaking fingers, he unclipped Fenris's armor as quickly as possible. It fell to the side with a clatter, and Hawke dug his nails into Fenris's upper back in an attempt to pull him even closer. The sharp metal of his gauntlets bit deep into Hawke's skin. They bruised his bones, but he didn't want Fenris to stop.

The feeling of lyrium pulsing against his skin was much better than any type of magical wave that Anders could conjure. The buzzing on his tongue was exotic and electric as he licked at the markings that were glowing with a faint light. Delicious pain mixed with undeniable pleasure, and Hawke couldn't remember for the life of him why he had lingered so long on the mage's touch. This was violent. This was intense, and it was all he ever wanted. The feeling was narcotic, and he arched against his lover's touch as Fenris slammed his shoulders into the floor and kissed a teasing path down his stomach.

Their relationship was sweeter than strawberries, more tumultuous than a hurricane.

Hawke loved him more than his heart could bear.

He gasped as Fenris took a bud into his mouth and swirled his tongue around. Everything became sensation: touch, taste, smell, hear. He could hear his own groans and Fenris's rapid panting. He could feel the silken skin, warm lips, raw pleasure, and searching hands. The taste of earthy rain and salty sweat mixed together with Fenris's own unique flavor as they kissed again. The entire room smelled of the musk of sex and leather.

Accustomed to their grappling, Hawke gripped Fenris's shoulders tightly and flipped him over. Fenris didn't like that though. He growled, pressing their mouths together and flipping them over again so that Hawke's head nearly hit the fireplace. The dangerous glow was almost too much, burning as brightly as their passion. It lit the fine sheen of sweat forming on their bodies, connecting them in a chemical way. Fenris ran a thumb over his cheekbone, nipping lightly at his lips, more gently, nearly subdued. "No," he whispered against the open mouth.

"Fenris, why—" the elf put a hand over his mouth, trailing down with tongue and teeth. Hawke had never thought to feel him again, to touch or taste as he wanted. Now he was holding Fenris in his arms, and he was asking why. Hawke ran his hands down the elf's sides, feeling the shifting muscle and pointed ribs. Lyrium burned softly against his skin. Things became frantic again as Fenris bit at his stomach.

A hand slipped beneath his drawstrings and grasped him firmly, stroking with a gentleness that didn't match their hurried touches and moans and whispers. Yet despite the hurried pace the elf was setting, Hawke matched it only with a kindness and patience. He pulled Fenris up to kiss him rather than yank him and crush their mouths together. He didn't bite, only allowed himself to be bitten. Any blood drawn was his, not Fenris's. Hadn't he hurt him enough?

A rather hard tug made Hawke throw his head back, smacking it on the hard floor. He dug his nails into Fenris's shoulders, panting heavily. The kisses became so frequent that he couldn't breathe. He had to gasp several times, breathing through his nose even. Fenris had him writhing in pleasure, toes curling, teeth sinking into his lip. Then Fenris pulled back and watched him with lacquer eyes that glittered mysteriously in the dim light. They shown as pools of darkness, filled to the brim with some emotion.

Hawke gasped as he spilled over, calling out Fenris's name into the heated room. The elf tipped his head forward, their foreheads meeting as Fenris kissed him slowly and deeply. Hawke broke away and sucked in a deep breath, shriveled lungs desperate for air. When Fenris threatened to pull back, Hawke grabbed him and flipped him over. The elf was still wearing his pants and gauntlets. An emotionless mask had come over his face, and he lay panting on his back, fists clenched at his sides.

A thumb came up to carefully trace the shape of his lips, the lines under his chin. They were luminescent, sparkling like magic. Fenris probably wouldn't have appreciated the comparison. "Why?" the elf asked suddenly, turning his eyes away. "Why did I come back?"

Hawke felt his heart give a tug. "You want me to give you an answer?"

"You always have," Fenris panted, fingers coming up to touch Hawke's face, thumbs just beneath his eyes. "Why not now?"

The human thought, catching his breath. "Because you have to figure some things out by yourself, Fenris. That's the meaning of being free."

"I don't know freedom," he closed his eyes, swallowing painfully. This was obviously difficult for him. Hawke had never heard him speak so much of his heart. "I only know slavery and corruption and that I want this. That I want you."

"You have me," Hawke told him, brilliant blue meeting dark obsidian.

"Where does this leave us?" Fenris wondered. "Does this mean that things can go on as they did before? Please, Hawke, guide me." He truly looked like a frustrated child, desperately grasping at a profound situation to find the meaning.

Hawke took pity on him. "You're here, and you don't have to forgive me. Just stay. I want you here if you want to be here."

"I wouldn't have come otherwise," Fenris murmured as though this were obvious. "I—nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you. You've poisoned me, Hawke. I can't bear being alone anymore." He swallowed. "I was…happy when I was with you. I want things to go on as they did before. "

The human thought for an infuriatingly long time. The sound of their hearts beating, breaths slowing, and the crackle of the fire added to the tension. Hawke was more than willing, but he didn't want any animosity between them. So after a moment, he kissed Fenris and whispered in his pointed ear, "Your choice. It's always been your choice."

Fenris made his choice, the heat of it pressing into Hawke's thigh. They tossed, turned, and knocked over several of Hawke's books as the human lifted the elf onto the table. Everything became a blur, but Hawke remembered a few select details after that. Hawke remembered the undeniable ecstasy as he and his lover became complete again. He remembered flipping Fenris over and taking him again and again until the morning light burned away what was left of the fire and showed Hawke every last inch of those dark eyes and what they wanted. He recalled lying on the ground, warm and wanting but exhausted. Just before falling asleep, he remembered whispering, "I love you," to Fenris.

He also remembered Fenris saying, "I know, Hawke," before he drifted away.

* * *

><p>Fenris woke in the morning to the feel of a warm body pressed against his with such intimacy that he nearly jumped away in surprise. He didn't. A moment after he opened his eyes, he recognized the musky scent of Hawke's cologne. He recognized the tantalizing feeling of waking up with spongy bones and deliciously sore muscles from their efforts the night before. Mostly, he knew the scent of sex was in the air.<p>

The night before…he'd just pulled into Kirkwall when he'd been on his way 'home.' Hawke's home had been so teasingly close, his lover so within reach. It had nearly a week's voyage to get back, and the entire time he'd been trying to convince himself that he was going back only for his things. When he'd paused on the docks with all his possessions with him, then he'd realized what he'd really come back for: his lover, partner, and greatest friend. Hawke's voice called out from a ghostly mass of a crowd, no longer there, just a memory of the past. The human _had _been calling his name that day. Fenris had just been too preoccupied with brooding to notice it.

The feelings were still conflicting, still murky. On one hand, he was furious with Hawke for not telling him that Danarius had Bethany. He was angry at himself for so readily thinking the worst of Hawke. He was frustrated that Hawke had not trusted him enough. He was also maddeningly relieved to find out that Hawke hadn't betrayed him. It had been the human's intention to save him all along. And he remembered what he had been thinking in that desolate cell while awaiting his second execution. Hawke did cross an ocean for him. He did fight an army of mages, and he almost sacrificed his life. Hawke, after all, was awful at fighting magic.

Untangling himself carefully from their mess of limbs, Fenris began to get dressed quickly. He'd been so confused the night before, but when he'd seen Hawke tossing around in the bed like that—so torn up over something—he'd needed to be there. Fenris was not the type of person to be overcome with mindless passion. He was also not the kind of person to fall head-over-heels in love. Yet, that was what it felt like. He loved Hawke, and he'd nearly confessed it while pressed intimately between the floor and his lover's heavy body. Maybe sex hadn't been the best response to his anger. Maybe he'd been a little rough the night before, he thought as he glanced at Hawke's sleeping form.

The scratches stretched from Hawke's shoulder blades to the small of his back. There were bite marks on every inch, visible and not. The stitches in his neck were open, torn by Fenris's teeth. The lingering metallic taste of blood was still on his lips, as sweet as Hawke's kisses. Bruises in the shape of an elf's hands were forming on slender hips and defined upper arms. Fenris strapped his last gauntlet on and sighed.

Perhaps they should have talked more first, but he was so very weary of talking. Acting made him feel like less of a coward, because when they talked Hawke did most of the talking. Fenris listened and agreed or disagreed occasionally. Violently jumping Hawke in the middle of the night would not have solve their problems had Hawke been anyone else, but he didn't regret doing it. Hawke never made him regret their coupling. Even when he was drawing blood and scratching and _hurting _more than _loving _Hawke had only touched him with the gentlest of hands, the most profound patience.

And more love in his eyes than he'd ever seen in a person.

It made him feel inadequate, like he had been on the one to betray. It also made him ashamed to think that Hawke could make a decision like that without pain. He'd truly believed that Hawke didn't want him, that he'd met another Danarius that didn't carry a staff. He was foolish to think that of his friend and blind to think that of his lover. He felt tainted, unworthy, but oddly satisfied. He supposed that they had solved something the night before. Their breathless exchange lifted Fenris's heart. He felt happier about it.

As for what he felt about Hawke trading him for Bethany, he felt a deep understanding beneath his childish emotions of anger and jealousy. Once upon a time, he had loved Varania before he knew her. Would he have traded Hawke's life for hers? No. Would he have traded them temporarily and raced off to another land to save Hawke the moment he could? Yes, and without a doubt. The logic was there, it was just buried under flagging emotion.

Fenris didn't like to admit to emotion. Hadriana was the cause for that. If she found out that he favored something or someone, she would take it or them away. If she knew something hurt him, she would do it more often. So he'd learned to cope, as it were. Things turned out better when he did that. Hiding behind a emotionless mask kept him safer, and he'd clung to it out of survival even when he didn't need it anymore.

The elf sighed and sank down on the bed. Bodahn hadn't come in, so it was probably early morning at least. The room was a scattered mess, books thrown, the fire burned out, Hawke's flint lost among the ashes. His sword lay half underneath the bed which was mussed with all the pillows on the floor and the blankets and sheets dragged into the middle of the room. After such a flurry of sex and passion, Hawke had made them a tiny pallet on the floor rather than crawling back to the wreckage of the bed. Everywhere, clothes were scattered. Why no one had entered because of the noise was baffling.

Hawke rolled onto his back, fingers splayed over his belly. He was growing a bit of stubble on his chin, a particularly large bruise forming on his jaw just beneath his ear. Fenris felt an acute embarrassment. The moment that Isabela saw the state of him, she would never let Fenris live it down. As for what would happen when the human woke up, Fenris didn't know. He hoped Hawke would sleep a little longer. He wanted a chance to go home and change, maybe take a warm bath to wash the stink of the sea from his skin. He also wanted to think of what he might say. Hawke looked as though he needed the sleep, anyway. Dark circles were forming around his eyes.

Fenris stood up from the bed and gently padded around Hawke's prone form. Grabbing his weapon from the mess of clothes and scattered bits of debris, he gently opened the door and eased his way out. Morning was just spilling over the carpet at the top of the stairs when Fenris left Hawke's mansion.

* * *

><p>Hawke was startled out of his dream sometime during midday to the sound of incessant knocking at his door. He was lying naked on the floor, one arm thrown over his eyes to block out the light while the other was cast out to the side, palm up with his fingers spread open. His first instinct was to look for Fenris, and he blinked blearily at the cold place beside him. His heart sank as he thought for just a moment that it had in fact been a dream. Then he felt the acute pain that came with making love to the elf. Bite marks burned like brands all over his body, bruises the shapes of fingers marring his hips and thighs. He threw back the blankets to see them, angry red and purple.<p>

The knocking became more insistent, and he cast an annoyed glare at the door before tucking a blanket around his hips and opening it. He didn't get what he expected. A hand caught him in the chest and sent him tumbling onto his back with a thump. A flash of dark skin cloaked in tattered pieces of white flashed in front of him. A heel settled on his chest, and he groaned.

Isabela peeked over her scantily clad cleavage, staring down at him with twinkling eyes. "Hey," she said, holding up a bottle. "Want to talk about it?" Her eyes darkened as they roved over his naked form, the bites and bruises and scratches. She raised an eyebrow and—without taking her foot from his chest—nudged the door open all the way to take in the state of his room. She grinned wolfishly. "Looks like someone already talked about it."

"Get off," Hawke said, pushing her foot away.

"Wow, you move on quickly," she said with approval, shoving the bottle into his hands and kicking the pile of blankets. "So who was it? Ugh, don't tell me it was Jethann. If it was, I owe that filthy whore three sovereigns."

"What? You made a bet with Jethann over whether or not I would bed him after Fenris left me?" he was momentarily distracted.

"No," she said, feigning innocence. "I made a bet with him over whether or not you would bed him ever. He's quite fond of you, you know." She crossed her arms. "But you're avoiding the question. Who was it?"

"Fenris," Hawke said, handing her the bottle as he dropped the blanket around his waist and went in search for pants. Isabela was a bit a voyeur. It wouldn't be the first time she had seen him naked. He fished a pair of trousers and underclothes from his wardrobe and began pulling them on.

Isabela squeaked. "Those bruises and scratches are from him? Did you fight or have sex?" her voice sounded bewildered.

"It was a bit…violent," Hawke admitted, turning around.

She uncorked the bottle of wine and took a long dreg, Adam's apple bobbing as she swallowed. "So…where is he?" she glanced around as if Hawke would be hiding him somewhere.

"Gone," he answered. "I woke up this morning to your damned knocking, and he was gone." Hawke grabbed his tunic from the bed and a white undershirt and proceeded to tug them both on. Isabela set the bottle of wine on the chimney and deftly buttoned his overcoat for him, smoothing the collar when she was finished.

"Do you think he's coming back?"

"I don't know," Hawke admitted, "but it was nice to see him."

With a sigh, Isabela patted his chest. "You love him, don't you?" Hawke smiled at her.

"You know, when I met Fenris, I had never looked at an elf like that. They're pretty, but I never really wanted to touch one. They're a bit like porcelain dolls, so small and breakable. He was different," Hawke told her, a wistfulness coming into his eyes. "I'd say it was love at first sight, but that's cliché. I just knew that I wanted to know him. You had to notice it to. He carried himself with such a cold detachment, and he was always on guard. I didn't want to fix him, but I wanted to understand why he was broken." Pulling away from her, he went to stand near the fireplace and stare at the cooling ashes.

"I didn't want more than friendship at first, but the possibility of more left me drunk. After that night when we killed Hadriana, and he came here…I thought it was a bad idea. He was there, though, and I let him lead me into bed," Hawke's smile turned sad. "It was a mistake, and it shouldn't have happened like that. Maybe he wouldn't have avoided me for three years if I'd been more careful with him."

"You can't blame yourself for that," Isabela protested, coming up to put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He shrugged.

"It wasn't my fault, but I should have stopped it. I knew I was in love, but what was he feeling? Lust? We should have been sure before plunging headlong into it. It's not like just having sex when you care. Feelings are important," Hawke glanced at her. "I'm sure you understand what I'm talking about."

Glancing away and biting her lip, she grudgingly admitted that she did.

"Right," Hawke sighed. "Three years later, he wanted to try again. It took my almost dying to get him to come around. Kissing by the fireplace and the events that followed that…I was so happy that I ignored my family. Bethany got caught up in our dangerous lives. I lost Fenris again."

"You got him back," Isabela told him fiercely. "Sweetheart, you take so much blame onto yourself for things no one can control. You need to lighten up." She reached out to take the bottle and gently wrapped his fingers around the neck. "He'll probably be back before you know it."

"Why, Isabela," he stared at her, "is that reassurance I hear in your voice?"

"Absolutely not," she mocked injury. "I can't believe you would even think that."

Hawke sipped at the wine and recognized the taste immediately. He frowned at Isabela. "This is from my wine cellar."

"You nobles," she rolled her eyes. "Wine is good for drinking. Not for saving." She put her finger in front of his face and bumped him on the nose with it. With sashaying hips, she made her way out of the room. "Meet me at the Hanged Man later if you want. We can have drinks."

He watched her go and drank deeply of the bottle, nearly finishing it off. Later, when Orana came in and gave a squeak of surprise to find his room in such disarray, he apologized profusely to her. She wouldn't hear it, insisting it was her job to clean. He was so proud of her, but he still cleaned up his desk and helped her carry the blankets down to where they could be washed.

Once they had put the blankets in the washroom, he stopped her outside the door. "Are you happy here, Orana?" he asked her curiously. Her cheeks reddened.

"How could I not be, Master? You treat me with such kindness, you and Master Fenris." A small smile graced her pink lips. "I am so glad you saved me from that awful place. I am so glad that you are my master."

He couldn't help the smile that tugged at his mouth, and he insisted that they all eat lunch together. Orana cooked a wonderful meal, and when they were finished she managed to stop trembling long enough to put a healing ointment on his back and the deep wound in his neck. It hurt, but he didn't let it show. Her technique was sloppy, hands too shaky to do it right. He still appreciated the effort, but he sewed his own stitches and asked her to hold the mirror instead. She did that well.

By the time night had fallen, everything was back in order. A gentle rain fell outside, and Hawke spent a good portion of the night scribbling in his notebook while curled up in the windowsill and looking out at Hightown. He tried not to think of Fenris. The elf would come back when he willed. Hawke had no desire to cage him like an animal.

As candles were doused and everyone else went to bed, Hawke went downstairs and drew a bath. For nearly an hour he sat while the water soaked away his aches and pains, both physical and emotional. He drank the rest of the bottle of wine, feeling a pleasant buzz in his limbs. It wasn't enough to impair his senses. When the water became unbearably cold, he dried himself off and pulled on a fresh pair of pants to go to bed.

Entering the room with a towel over his head, he glanced down to see he was about to step on a book. The leather case was embossed with a tree on the front, large and swirling writing scrawled across the top. Eyebrows furrowed, he bent down to pick it up. A deep voice startled him.

"You're late," it accused, and Hawke glanced up in surprise. Fenris was there, dressed in soft clothing while his armor rested by the fire, lightly speckled with rain. The elf's hair was damp, and he had his own towel tossed over Hawke's chair, drying.

For a moment, Hawke floundered. Then he realized what night it was. They were supposed to be reading. He was late. "You were prepared," he teased, repeating the same line Fenris had used on him so many nights ago.

Fenris smiled slightly. "Let's just say that I was hopeful. It sounds better." Languidly, he stretched out his long arm and fingers. Hawke tossed the towel to the ground near the fire as he approached and secured the book in the elf's hand, curling his own fingers over the smaller, longer ones. Fenris glanced down at the wound on his neck, and his eyes darkened. "I was careless last night. I apologize."

"Don't," Hawke kissed him. He let go of the book and put his hands around the slim elf's waist, guiding him to the bed. Fenris held onto the leather cover with both hands, allowing himself to be moved. Hawke crawled onto the duvet, leaning his back against the headboard. Fenris sank into his lap, back pressed against the human's chest. It was amazing just how small he was. Hawke put his head onto the elf's shoulder. "Chapter three, I believe."

Silently, Fenris opened the book and thumbed through it to start. His voice vibrated against Hawke's chest, heartbeats in sync.

Maybe one day they would have to talk about it. Maybe one day Hawke would sit the ex-slave down and force him to lay his heart bare again just to show him that he would never reject Fenris's feelings, good or bad. They still had a lot to learn about and from each other, but Hawke felt that their relationship had strengthened ten-fold. They had been tested in the flame and purified for it. They had escaped total destruction by covering it up. Maybe one day they would have to pay for that.

_For now, it's enough to simply be_, Hawke thought, pressing a kiss to the space behind Fenris's ear.

* * *

><p><strong>It's finished. Thanks for your reviews. You are a darling bunch of readers. I have another story in mind for these two. Not a sequel, just another MaleHawkeFenris fanfiction. Hopefully it'll go by as fast as this one did. We'll see how much homework I have. Thanks for reading. Oh, and if you catch any typos let me know immediately, and they will be fixed. Did you like the ending? Too cheesy? Was it in character? Let me know in a review. **


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